A Better Tomorrow
by SolarisAce
Summary: Alektra Maria von Loewenherz and a man known as "Eugene Valentinus" are old comrades from the original Libertus, each carrying their own scars. But with the arrival of an exiled princess, hope for a new revolution looks like it's beyond the horizon. With the same goals but differing methods, can the two compromise what they view as necessary actions? Complete description inside.
1. Chapter 1: Sole Man

**A Better Tomorrow**

 _Alektra Maria von Loewenherz and a man known as "Eugene Valentinus" are old comrades from the original Libertus, each carrying their own scars. But with the arrival of an exiled princess, hope for a new revolution looks like it's beyond the horizon. With the same goals but differing methods, can the two compromise what they view as necessary actions? With one of them desiring vengeance regardless of cost, and the other fighting struggling to maintain his morals and ideals in his pursuit of freedom, can each be the support the other needs?  
_

 _Can the two of them, with the aid of their comrades, bring to fruition a dream of A Better Tomorrow?_

* * *

The alarm clock ceased its beeping as firm fingers came down and hit the button, the high-baritone grumbling quickly subsiding. The man wasn't a big drinker—hell, he had nothing last night—but he felt badly hungover and had a bad headache. The cafeteria on the base might not have the most luxurious food, but the coffee was incredible.

He gave the figure sleeping next to him a light nudge.

"Hey, Jill?"

"Ugh…what is it, Eugene?"

"It's time for us to get up. I'm going to wash up, get the coffee and all that. Want me to bring you anything?"

Jill rolled over to look her second-in-command in the eye. The smile on her lips was subtle, but there.

"I'll get it myself when I'm ready, Eugene. You understand that, soldier?"

"Heh. Ma'am, yes Ma'am," Eugene chuckled. "Just trying to look out for you, Jill. You're my oldest friend, after all."

"Appreciate the concern, but I'm fine."

"I hope so," Eugene said as he stood. As far as Jill was concerned, his body said more about him than words ever could. It was riddled with scars, mostly from fragments of metal from scrapped para-mails. Even the best pilots have a bad sortie once in a while.

Now, he acted as Jill's second in command, as well as Arzenal's training facilitator…much to his chagrin. Being the sole man on an island consisting entirely of women tended to make him eye candy for everyone, regardless of the age difference between him and the rookies.

In a typical storybook, you'd never find _anything_ bad to say about him. He was practically _the_ subject of schoolgirl fantasy.

It didn't help that Eugene was also the poster child of a well-groomed man who focused on maintaining a professional appearance: a man who was always clean-shaven, short-cut, with nary a wrinkle on his uniforms. Straight-laced as you'd expect at first glance.

Of course, he also looked out of place among the residents of Arzenal when wearing something like this.

His cropped brown hair required little maintenance, and he didn't have a lot of stubble to get rid of. The military dress uniform was formal, but not overly elaborate like you'd see on an imperial prince. The shine on the black shoes was evidence of the meticulous care Eugene took in keeping them polished.

With everything except the uniform's coat (to keep it clean) on, Eugene took off to the cafeteria. There was nothing special being served this time around—just the plain bacon and eggs. The barebones of a good breakfast diet…perfectly fine with him. He took a seat alone, like usual, at least until Zola decided to check in with him.

"Major!" she started. "So, what brings an officer and gentlemen like you down to eat with the rest of us?"

"The most important meal of the day—that's what," Eugene said, before adding a sly remark. "Officers need energy, too, _Captain_. Not that you have ever had a problem with energy. Besides, you _know_ I don't like eating in the command center."

"Yet you take your coffee there with you," Zola said. "Hypocrisy at its finest—for shame, Gene. Imagine what would happen if you spilled it on your nice dress uniform."

"Gyah!" Eugene groaned as he palmed his face. " _You_ nudged me too hard that time—gloomy morning just like this. I turn my back to you for all of two seconds and _that_ happens. Took me the better part of thirty-six hours to get it all back into pristine condition."

"You're so uptight. You _need_ to loosen up—better yet, get laid," Zola licked her lips. "Like that one time."

Eugene has not gambled ever since that "one time".

" _Why_ do you keep on trying to get laid with me…again? Isn't your harem enough?"

The thought of being part of Zola's harem was irksome to Eugene. Hell, Zola's hedonistic lifestyle was off-putting to him. He never once thought that his protégé would take up such a hobby—lots of days in a simulator, on the shooting range, and disciplinary training and _this_ becomes her idea of "bonding" with her subordinates?

"You're the only man on the island, not to mention the only other person here with a replacement eye…"

"…which is the _only_ thing we have in common, Captain."

His train of thought was interrupted by the sound of three more trays being sat down on the table, and he had an almost preternatural awareness of their rumps hitting the chairs. They were a pair of red-heads (with the second closer to orange) and someone whose hair was light blue.

"Hilda, Rosalie, Chris…morning, all," Eugene greeted each respectively. "I hope the captain here is not tormenting you _too_ terribly. Then, by my position as second-in-command, I'd reserve the right to _discipline_ her."

Zola mock-pouted at the remark.

"No problems, _Dad_ …" Rosalie said, the last word being sarcastic.

"Now you've gone and hurt my feelings," Eugene put his hand over his heart, like his heart was wounded. "I practically raised you all for the last decade, you then give me sass. I thought I raised you all better, my girls. Must be the hormones acting up."

"Sarcasm is strange, when it's coming from you," Hilda said.

"Only when I'm on the clock, Hilda," Eugene said before checking his watch. "And _speaking_ of which, I should get going. Ahem… _attention_!"

When Eugene spoke, _all_ people within earshot listen, regardless of rank. Everyone in he canteen from the ladies next to him to the cook on the other side of the room stood rigid at the posture.

"Hope you all had good sleep. You know the routine: keep ready at all times for any detected singularities. First Troop, you have a short patrol scheduled this morning; wheels up at oh-nine-thirty!" Eugene announced. "Everyone, you'll be notified of any changes in routine directly from me, as the base's executive officer. As you were!"

Dismissed from attention, everyone returned to what they were doing. Eugene took the quiet afterwards to get his uniform's coat on and buttoned up, picking up the mug of coffee and taking off.

"Don't spill, Major!" Zola called after him.

"Stow it, Captain. Consider that an order!" Eugene called back.

Eugene always valued speaking and behaving with one-hundred-percent professionalism. Subordinates like Zola, more so than any other, really stretched the limit of what he can take.

She really tempted him to "loosen up"—ideally, with a fist to her face rather than his head between her legs.

 _Stop it, Gene! Calm down. Think like a professional. You're the base's Executive Officer, damn it!_

His internal fight had not gone unnoticed by the bridge staff or the human investigator assigned to Arzenal.

"Bronson…" Eugene greeted.

"Major…" she replied.

Eugene and Emma didn't get along on a personal level, primarily by reason of his tendency to socialize and befriend the Norma of Arzenal in the off-hours of the day. Technically, as a male who can't use Mana, Eugene should be kept watch on by Bronson at all times—at least she had a tendency to fail horribly at this, since apparently "only" Norma (all female, in case that wasn't clear already) cannot use Mana and are worth keeping an eye on.

"I don't suppose anyone here has new news…" Eugene said.

"Actually, we _have_ received a copy of a transfer order," Pamela said.

"What or who is being transferred to or from here?" Eugene asked.

"Honestly, Gene: you should consider dropping unneeded distinctions," Pamela said before standing, and holding out a clipboard. "The details are right here."

Eugene set his coffee mug down and took the clipboard. Ange…formerly Angelise Ikaruga Misurugi, now Norma #1203-77…formerly heir to the Misurugi Empire. Age…

"Aged sixteen? How long did she go before her…uh… _status_ as Norma was revealed?" Eugene asked.

"No idea…I'd assume her family was in on the fact…"

"At sixteen years of age and a princess…these older transfers are _always_ problematic. Thrust into the field before they ever have a chance to come to terms with the fact, and usually getting themselves killed because of it," Eugene trailed as set the clipboard on the table, sighing. "Just like the _last_ one I tried to ease into the fact."

Olivier swiveled in her chair to face him, knowing that that sortie was also the one that resulted in his removal as an active pilot. "Losing Rita wasn't your fault, Gene. I don't care how much you tell yourself otherwise."

"She was _eighteen_ , Olivier—already of age when she was brought in. Once you're in the back half in your teens, you tend to be set in your ways," Eugene said. "The younger ones have much better luck adapting and excelling in the long term. Besides, you already know my policy when it comes to flying with others."

"Yes: the team survives, however dire things get…"

Eugene sighed and reached for his mug, only to find that it was missing. "What the-? Bronson!"

Emma was right there, holding his mug in her fingers.

"What? I need to deal with all these things, too! For that I need to wake up!"

"Well, swallow your pride and get some coffee from the cafeteria yourself," Eugene spat.

"It's hard enough touching something _you_ drank out of, Norma-lover," Bronson retorted. "You expect me to go in there with all those… _things_?"

Eugene took a deep breath as he struggled to calm down, his amethyst-colored eyes refusing to break contact from Emma's sunset-orange ones. Emma was yet another person who grated against his temper. So early in the day and he was _already_ arguing with Emma Bronson. He'd hoped to go an hour _at least_ before the yelling started.

"Those 'things' you're referring to are our soldiers—brave ones, too. And _yes_ , I do," Eugene stated bluntly. "I think you _could_ stand some exposure to them and their day-to-day lives. We have this argument _all the time_ , Bronson. The least you could do is spend _one_ day with them."

"Stand down, Major," Jill's voice spoke as she walked into the command center.

"Yes, commander," Eugene acknowledged.

"Anything to report?"

"Yes. A transfer order came in," Eugene said, picking up a clipboard and handing it over. "Have you seen this one before?"

Jill's eyes followed along each line of the order. "No… Major, I've already decided that this one is going into the First Troop."

"You're putting her in with Zola right from the start? Respectfully, I have to call that decision into question—remember what happened to the _last_ one who was put in ahead of orientation completion?"

"You're _still_ dwelling on that?" Jill asked. "We can't be picky with who we deploy."

"But if we deploy nothing but new meat, we're just spinning our wheels," Eugene said. "Before we know it, we'll have no choice but to field the preschoolers-or call the older ones back into active duty."

"What's your recommendation?"

"I have psychological experience with older recruits—you _know_ that," Eugene said. "I'm asking for a _minimum_ of one week of disciplinary education, physical training, and orientation under my _direct_ supervision before her first sortie with the First Troop. And no: I'm _not_ under any illusion that this will be a guaranteed success."

"Let's assume that I _do_ approve this decision…" Jill started, staring at him, pointedly. "What's your logic?"

Their personal relationship with each other had no bearing here. At present, Jill and Eugene were a commander and executive officer pair, off-duty feelings be damned.

"Respectfully, Zola is a hardass," Eugene said. "I may have taught her myself, but she's developed her own teaching methods—whenever she's actually focused on _teaching_ rather than her hobbies. And quite frankly, with a formerly privileged and entitled princess, all that can do is cause more damage. People of the recruit's age have a strong sense of denial that they're Norma, so they are likely to run for it the first chance they get on their initial sortie. This recruit needs a stern, but fair regimen. She needs to be fully aware of her circumstances, the impossibility of leaving, and the consequences if others die due to her actions—and you _know_ I've gotten results with my methods. And Bronson? I'll need your help to get my point across."

When he glared at recruits, he could get them to shut up without raising his voice _at all_. Eugene prided himself on not having to be sexual or loud to get newcomers in line, unlike Zola.

"It's your call, commander: fast training with extreme risk, or somewhat slower but more thorough work," Eugene concluded.

Jill thought long and hard about the options her old comrade from the original Libertus gave her. She knew the newcomer was of royal blood, and knew she carried a royal ring, which also meant she had the potential to pilot Vilkiss…and she was eager to get her in as soon as possible and start the second Libertus. She thought Eugene was being overly cautious, but he wasn't necessarily _wrong_ , especially if hasty deployment ended in Vilkiss's destruction.

Still, it's an open secret that Eugene and Zola have stopped seeing eye-to-eye since she was given command of the First Troop.

"Eugene, we've known each other for years, so I'm willing to compromise," Jill started. "I value your opinion, so I'm going to put the recruit with you for training and set her in reserve. If, however, I'm dissatisfied at _any_ point in the week on your progress, I'm moving her to the First Troop under Zola. We cannot afford to be so cautious that she never sees action, and we can't have you being too emotionally invested with each other that she underperforms without your presence. Is that understood?"

Jill was hasty. Eugene _knew_ this. But she _did_ have a point that going too long would get the recruit too attached to him to effectively fight alongside an entirely alien group to her. The resolution to that would be that _he_ be reinstated as flight leader of the First Troop…a request that Jill had repeatedly turned down over the last year.

"I'm not going to get a better deal than that, am I?"

"No, Eugene," Jill said. "That's my deal. Take it or leave it."

Palming his face, Eugene exhaled sharply through his teeth.

"Very well, ma'am. I accept the deal," Eugene said, regaining his formal tone, saluting sharply. "When is the arrival?"

"Two hours. I expect you to make it happen."

* * *

 **A/N: This is just a goofy experiment that popped into my head after watching the anime. I'm willing to take constructive criticism, and hey, if anyone wants to collaborate on DocX and help me refine the story, I'm all for it. I'm under no illusions of being able to get very far on my own.**


	2. Chapter 2: Green as Grass

**A/N: I'd like to thank the follower and reviewer for taking his time to add his input. Four views so far, let's shoot for 3 total followers. Right off the bat of this story, you'll see tweaks to some character development and personalities, including generally better senses of humor, general better early-story competence, et al. I'll occasionally add a profile that expands as the story goes along-typically the OC and characters whose personalities were altered for the sake of this fic. Without further ado, let's get into chapter two.**

 **And, no: the rhyme was _not_ intended.**

 **EDIT: Did some spelling and missing words cleanup. Also, I must emphasize something: the personalities of the characters are _not_ going to be 1:1 with canon, as you'll see with this chapter and should have seen last chapter.**

* * *

It was well-known that Eugene's training regimen, while one that was encouraging to new recruits during downtime, was also one of the most strenuous on Arzenal, particularly after the first week. It's also known that, while not abusive, Eugene's punishments tend to be harsher than most because he holds those under his tutelage to higher standards than other instructors do.

What frightens most is that this got results. Most who made the cut went on to become elite pilots in their own rights. Zola, his star graduate, has one of the most impressive kill-counts and service lengths in Arzenal.

The problem Eugene was faced with was this: most recruits entrusted to him were girls that had been here since before they were ten. He was being handed a 16-year-old girl and told to do as much as he could within just one week, if that. In short, he had to decide if compressing a typical 14-week course of his into one was even practical, let alone a good idea.

Again, he felt Jill was being hasty, but it ultimately wasn't his call.

 _She should really value my opinion more often_ , he thought as he made his way through the hallways to where orientation was being held. As expected, Jill, Bronson, and many others were there, mostly Norma who were just getting introduced to the realities behind Arzenal. And right there, in front of Jill, staring down at her desk, was the young lady of the hour: Angelise Ikaruga Misurugi, now known as "Ange".

The teacher at front was the first to notice her classroom door open and immediately snapped to salute. "Oh! Major Valentinus, sir!"

Most of the other Norma looked over their shoulders and mimicked the teacher's actions in saluting him, and even the lone human present did. Ange and Jill were the only ones who didn't do so. Ange was shocked, based on the look in her eyes. Hell, it's happened so often, it had become routine: "A male Norma!?" And sure enough, that was _exactly_ what Ange asked, word-for-word. Eugene looked pointedly at her and shook his head.

He already knew he would get her encouraged before the day's end, but making her a legitimate pilot who doesn't break off at the first sign of trouble was not going to be an easy task.

"No. I'm not a Norma, newcomer. And before you ask, no," he said completely deadpan before looking at the rest of the class. "As you were. You may continue the orientation."

Angelise still stared dumbfounded at him while every other person participating in the orientation returned to sitting. A billion things must have been going through her mind. What was a man doing on the island? How could he have known that she was going to ask if he could use Mana? How could he _not_ be a Norma if he couldn't use Mana? And why did he command the respect of both human and Norma alike?

"You've come here at a later age than most Norma do, so _I'm_ taking over your orientation and training," this Major Valentinus said.

"Remember, Major: you have one week to get her adapted and ready," Jill said. "After that, I don't care how far along you are: she's being transferred."

The Major still eyed Angelise appraisingly, with calculation. While there had been great contempt from the Inspector General on her arrival, in the way she looked at her as well as how she spoke, that was not the impression she got from this man. When he spoke, he was professional, not judging the fact hat the princess before him called him a Norma. He analyzed prior to making a call.

"Understood, commander," the Major said before extending his hand. "Young Ange, walk with me. There's a lot to discuss before we get started."

It was really hard to muster up any initial dislike for Valentinus, even with his Norma sympathies. He came off as very cordial, despite his firm manner of speech, which seemed almost overly articulate. His hand gently nudged her shoulder as he ushered her out of the classroom.

"I understand you've been searched and are having difficulties coming to terms with the reality of your situation. I apologize for the… _rough_ welcome…" he said.

"Rough" was an understatement, and they both knew it. He must have known exactly what the cavity search that his bitch of a superior did on her entailed. Angelise wanted to yell exactly what she thought of her welcome, but then she remembered the look he gave after her question of the possibility of a male Norma. She was frightened of what it must have been to see anger behind those amethyst eyes.

"Unfortunately, it's standard procedure. We can't make exceptions for anyone, even a former princess," Valentinus said, before gesturing to their left. "Look out the window to our left. Tell me: what do you see?"

The hallway that they walked through had a clear view of the nearby cliff faces and out to the sea, not to mention the runway nearby that led away from the island. The cliffs of the island, the open sea, and well beyond it…

"My home is beyond the horizon, beyond the sea," Angelise said.

"Correction: your _former_ home," Valentinus said. "Since you've been outed as a Norma, your reputation is irreversibly destroyed—I wager others turned on you immediately. Now, think back to the room we left: what did you see there?"

"Norma watching another Norma, and a viewscreen," Angelise said.

"Exactly; it's like humans watching a slideshow in kindergarten…" Valentinus said. "Have you ever seen such a sight?"

"I…no…I can't remember the last time I ever left the palace…"

"You were quite sheltered, then…" Valentinus said as he stroked his chin. Both of them knew this would not be an easy transition. "I've always favored thinking things through logically. If you wish to make it far under my watch, you have to learn to hold back and examine everything with a keen mind. Think of scenarios, questions that few would think to ask about. For example, ask yourself every day: 'What do humans and Norma have in common'? You may very well find the answer to that question evolving every day."

Angelise heard the question but didn't process it. Her mind wandered and thought back to home, thought back to seeing her mother riddled to death for her sake, drowning in her own blood. She wondered what happened to father. Was he alive? Where was the transfer order to bring her back?

"Ange? Ange, _look_ at me," the Major said with a great firmness in his voice, nudging her shoulder. The Major could see the water gathering in her eyes when she turned to look at him. His gloved hand provided more comfort than she could expect from a stranger. "Ange, there will be plenty of time to allow yourself to cry in private. I need you to mature and be a grown woman—you must be strong, and you must be focused. It's the only way you'll survive in such a rough life."

 _To live…to survive…_

That was among the last things her mother told her. To live. But to live like this? Alone, a human…with all these _things_ around her? How? How was she supposed to figure it out?

"But how?" she whispered. "All these _Norma_ around me?"

"I'll teach you how. And it starts tonight. In the meantime, I'll show your around. Does that sound good to you?"

She looked into those amethyst eyes…those kind, but firm eyes that belonged to an equally kind, yet determined man. A man whose words and touch were like silk but hid very strong steel underneath it all…exactly like a stern father had.

"Yes…I'd like that, but…Major?"

"Yes, Ange?"

"Saying your rank and last name is a…mouthful…can I call you something else?"

"When I'm _not_ training you? As in off the clock? Sure," Major Valentinus said, a lighthearted chuckle working its way into the last word. "The name is Eugene."

* * *

 **Jasmine's Mall**

 **Ange**

"This place…it looks like you could buy _anything_!"

"From lingerie to artillery pieces, Jasmine has it all!" Eugene said, gesturing around the space like some talk-show host. "And by the way: those were _her_ words, not mine."

"Umm…lingerie?"

"…in a military base? Yes. Not everyone has my…eloquent taste, after all," Eugene said. "I personally bought a nice, one-hundred percent marble chessboard from here…Tell me, Ange: have you ever played?"

A flush of embarrassment went through her body; Angelise had _always_ been familiar with chess. When she wasn't riding horses with Sylvia, she was playing chess with Julio…and was always losing. She could count the number of times she won against anyone on one hand: two, and both were against Sylvia.

"I have…and I've never been good at it," she said sheepishly, scratching the back of her head in a rather childish manner. "So…this is where everything goes to for supplies?"

"All supplies come here. Every _one_ comes here…yes," Eugene said. "There's a saying here on Arzenal: there's _nothing_ you can't buy with enough money. We'll go over basic piloting towards the end of tomorrow and all of day two, but you'll be coming here a _lot_ as a para-mail pilot for customization supplies. For example: I used to buy missile launchers from here in the past."

Para-mail? Missile launchers? Angelise had no idea what _any_ of this meant.

"First, let's get you supplied with a better uniform and the bare essentials," Eugene led her around to an older Norma, sitting on a load of crates, with a dog next to her. The dog was wearing an old-style leather pilot's hat, complete with goggles; purely for fashion's sake. After all, a dog didn't need such an accessory.

"Eugene. You old boy scout. What are you in for _this_ time around?" the Norma said. "And who's the girl?"

"Old, huh? I'm not even halfway into my thirties. Nice to talk to you, Jasmine. This here is our newest transfer: Ange," Eugene said. "You've kept up with some current events back on the mainland; I'm sure you recognize her."

The Norma named Jasmine stood up and approached to appraise Angelise, who took a few steps back, as though afraid to be touched. It was Eugene's hand on her back that kept her from tripping over her own feet. Those grey eyes inspected her hard before the Norma took a few steps back.

"I sure do…" Jasmine said as she took a seat. "Wasn't she the heir to the Misurugi throne?"

"Yes," Eugene said. "Sadly, good turns rarely last for…well, all of us here. Anyways, we're here for the uniforms and the basics. The one that was issued to her seems a bit too tight on her—she was saying it was constricting on our way here."

"You know where to look. If you need to measure here, check by the fitting stalls," Jasmine said. "You're a good friend, so I'll give you a good price."

"Jas…you're a wonderful woman. Wine later?"

"As long as _you're_ buying," Jasmine grinned. "And don't call me 'Jas' unless you want a price hike."

Eugene chuckled as he pat Angelise a few times on the back, gesturing to the fitting stalls. The roll of measuring tape was nearby, so Eugene did his best to play the part of fashion expert. Of course, being male, Eugene's fashion sense wasn't quite the same as everyone else's—compared to what everyone else was wearing, he tried to pick out more modest clothing. Angelise was grateful for the effort, but there was nothing in her size that was similar to his uniform.

 **Eugene**

He must have been the only sane person on this island.

Market be damned, why was it _his_ uniform that had to be unusual by Arzenal's standards? At least Bronson, for all of Eugene's personal gripes with her, dressed reasonably for her position. He didn't get it. Maybe he never _would_. So, alas, he had to pick out the standard for the Norma here.

Norma: skimpy. Humans: modest. Anti-Norma sentiment apparently barred them from normal clothes, it seemed.

 _Quit being a hypocrite, Em…Eugene! You like seeing Jill in some of her, uh…other outfits. She only wears them around you, after all._

That was the price he paid for an on-and-off-again relationship with his commander. At least there was no anti-fraternization policy in place by Mana society for this rock. Zola would be breaking it every hour of the week, after all.

 _Focus on getting things for Ange! Worry about the missus later!_

"This is the standard uniform for the residents of Arzenal," Eugene said, handing her the batch. "It's not the most dignified thing out there, but I'm told it's rather comfortable and easy to clean."

Eugene spent the next couple of minutes with his back turned to the changing stall and thought about how he'd approach the week. He planned to so her the dormitories and mostly theory and general regulations about Arzenal tonight—the things that procedure required of him. He was planning on giving her a basic pilot's manual to study overnight.

Then would come tomorrow, starting at five in the morning—chilliest time of sunrise. A test of how long she could stand the cold and her cardiopulmonary conditioning—physical tests, essentially. The reason was simple: due to the wind chill and high-altitude nature of para-mail flight, a good tolerance to cold _or_ strong insulation was necessary. Considering the overly flattering nature of the Normas' piloting suits, it has to be the former.

The piloting and infantry weapons training he had would go hand-in-hand…

"Umm, Eugene? How is this?"

Eugene turned to face Ange, who looked exactly what you'd expect of an Arzenal resident. Well, it could have been _more_ revealing, but Eugene was grateful that only the midriff was exposed.

"You put it together rather well. The magenta highlights fit your eyes, Ange," Eugene complimented. "How does it feel on you?"

"Umm…" she hesitated as she stretched around. She was flexible; she could probably smash the Twister competition at this year's Festa. Even Zola or Vivian couldn't keep up.

"It's comfortable, but the skirt feels so short and…my _midriff_ is _exposed_!" she screeched, before covering her mouth. She'd attracted attention of nearby customers, who all looked at her like she had gone insane.

"Yeaaah…very different from the gown you wore as a princess, huh?" Eugene asked rhetorically. "You should talk to Hilda about it after you're transferred. She had the same reaction as you—she got used to it, though. You'll have to, too. That's how things go here. Now for the dormitories."

 **…**

It was around six in the evening when Eugene and Ange reached the dormitories. The two of them entered one of the rooms. Like every unused room in the dormitories, it was unfurnished. You had a bed and a nice seaside view, but that was it—it was primarily just an improvement over a prison cell.

"There…there's nothing here!" Ange complained. "Just a bed and window in an empty room! Do _all_ Norma live like this!?"

Eugene stroked his chin. She was willing to work with him, at least. But that didn't change the fact that she was pampered to hell and back. Must have been nice to live in a king-sized bed that wasn't spring-loaded, but those days were over. She needed to face a reality check.

"Every Norma who transfers in _starts_ in a room like this," Eugene said. "Like I said: there's _nothing_ in Arzenal you can't buy with enough money. If you want to make this room more your own, you'll have to earn your keep and buy the furnishings yourself. I'm the _only_ handout you're getting in Arzenal—nothing else."

"Buy?" Ange asked. "How do I make money here?"

"We'll get to _that_ when we get you in the flight simulator. I can tell you right now that it involves DRAGONs," Eugene said, before reaching into his uniform pocket. "And speaking of which, since Jill decided to take you out of orientation very early and put you in my hands, I've put together a small booklet. It will give you condensed information about your job upon finishing training, piloting techniques, and components of the para-mail models used by our Norma. I _insist_ you study it for the next few hours, then get an early night. I've got to fit my normal training routine into just one week for you, which means you're going to be sore and tired throughout."

Eugene seemed to gradually dial back the fatherly tone in his voice towards the end of his last sentence and instead replace it with the sternness and seniority of a drill instructor. Ange definitely heard it, if the tenseness that worked its way into her body language was any indication.

"You're _going_ to wake up at five in the morning, or I'm going to do it for you… _loudly_ ," Eugene gave a glare that told Ange that he was all business. There was no Eugene at home right now—just Major Valentinus. "If you're still exhausted because you decided to stay up, the fault is yours. I'm not going to let up because you're tired. Is that understood, _soldier_?"

"Wha- what!?" Ange yelped as she fell on her rump, having not expected the forcefulness of Eugene's last question.

"I said, 'is that understood, soldier? Yes, sir? Or no, sir?"

"Ye…yes. Yes, sir," she stammered, nearly wetting herself like she had on her arrival. Then, the small booklet was shoved into her hands.

"Good girl," Eugene said firmly as he worked his way to the door. "Dismissed."

* * *

 **Jill's Quarters**

"How? How did you manage to get her to listen to you so quickly?" Jill would ask him later that night, as they held each other in bed. "Are you _that_ charismatic?"

Jill already knew the answer, looking into his deep amethyst orbs. He was so much like his older brother, and yet distinct in so many other ways. Like his older brother, he was a skilled para-mail pilot, and he was a natural leader. But Eugene was more idealistic than either his brother or Vanessa, and he was far more content to sit out leadership if he recognized there was a better option available. But not once had he ever not been willing to make his opinions heard by others, even by his betters.

Jill often worried these days for Gene: the _only_ person she truly worried about. After her own experiences and the failure of Libertus, Jill would have expected Eugene to have become a bitter cynic due to its failure, too. But while his attitude and approach to life had hardened and become more realistic, Eugene's ideals—his morals and altruism—seemed as strong as they've always been.

"She's green as grass, but she's got a lot of potential—the eyes don't lie. It's like I keep telling you with these late transfers, Jill: a fatherly touch is _all_ you'll ever need to get a kid's head together," Eugene replied as he pulled her closer by her left shoulder. "Far be it for your direct subordinate to suggest you think of these girls as your own. You know, like the better parts of the old days."

"It's been ten years since, Gene…those days are over. All I can focus on is the now…and you've always looked to the future. You're an idealist, through and through," Jill commented. No tears came, but she cried on the inside. "It will get you killed one of these days if you're not careful—I'd hate to lose such a good officer and friend."

Eugene simply rolled and settled above her, only to lean in and land a light peck on her lips.

"Don't worry," he whispered. "You won't…"

"Well, I _did_ lose you for a whole night…to _Zola_ , of all people."

Exasperation colored Eugene's face to see that _this_ is where their intimate moment led. "Jill! I keep telling you: if I knew what the prize was in that card game, I _never_ would have joined in!"

"There's _something_ about a student-teacher romance that makes me smile and tear up inside," Jill grinned, laughing her ass off.

"Argh!" Eugene growled. "I hate you so much."

That incident was _exactly_ why he decided to stop gambling.

* * *

 **Brief Profiles**

 **Major Eugene Valentinus**

Nicknames: Gene, Papa Gene (by many younger Norma), Boy-scout (by Jasmine), Darling (whenever Zola tries to get under his skin)

Age: 31

Height: 6'2"

Weight: 89 kg

 _Originally a participant of the first Libertus, Eugene is a relatively recent resident of Arzenal, having been a wanderer for so long. Well-liked by many residents. He is fatherly, idealistic, considered highly moral, straight-laced on the job, and is a veteran para-mail pilot. However, an injury has kept him out of action for the past two years, in spite of his efforts to be cleared for active service, hence his stay. Now, he acts as Arzenal's XO. Easily flustered, he's the target of embarrassing remarks by Zola, is in a relationship with Jill, and often finds himself in an odd form of competitive rivalry with Arzenal's resident human, Emma Bronson. He's highly eccentric when left to his own devices._

 **Angelise Ikaruga Misurugi**

Aka: Ange

Age: 16

Height: approx. 5'4"

Weight: 46 kg

 _Former heir to the Misurugi throne who has been outed as a Norma. Shaped by the propaganda of the World of Mana, she demonstrated chauvinism and an air of superiority towards Norma, despite her own status as one. Her willingness to be taught by Eugene is based in part out of fear of him, partly out his fatherly firmness towards her, and interest in what she views as an inconsistent personality. Time will tell if that fear becomes genuine respect or hatred. At present, he's the only one she's willing to listen to._

 _Changes from canon_ _: Plenty; her initial distaste for Norma, while still there, will be far less vocalized compared to canon, just to name one, and she's liable to be a bit easier to adapt on account of having a different trainer that **doesn't** try to get into her pants._

 **Alektra Maria von Loewenherz**

Aka: Jill

Age: 29

Height: 5'8"

 _Former princess of the Galia Empire and Eugene's comrade during the first Libertus. Bitter and cynical, she tends to disregard everyone around her. In a relationship with Eugene. Eugene has a humanizing effect on her and, unknown to her, the reverse is also true. Her sense of humor tends to be dark, but is more lighthearted when directed at Eugene. She views Eugene as overcautious, and he in turn views her as too hasty with regards to Ange._

 _Changes from canon_ _: I can't say much without spoiling it, but as you can see, she at least seems to care about a very select number of people, and she actually has a sense of humor that is not completely dark. And she is willing to take some people's concerns into consideration._

 **Zola** **Axberg**

Age: 25

Height: Approx. 5'9"

 _Captain of the First Troop. Replaced Eugene as the commanding officer of the First Troop after he was injured. She's a hedonist with a fondness for cadets. Caring for her comrades, she is nonetheless highly impulsive-much to Eugene's distaste. Loves teasing Eugene about their fling-he won a night with her from a game of poker without knowing what the prize would be. Zola single-handedly managed to break Gene's gambling addiction._

 _Changes from_ _canon_ _:_ _A lot! I won't get into it._

 **Emma Bronson**

Age: 22

Height: Approx. 5'7"

 _Inspector General assigned to Arzenal and the only "legitimate" human on-site. Takes the rules of Arzenal very seriously and punishes those who break them. Discriminates against Norma and is not afraid to express her beliefs even in front of them. Uneasy around Eugene since he himself is unable to use Mana. Nonetheless, she holds a certain level of respect for both him and Jill. She and Eugene tend to bicker over both large things (Emma's opinions regarding Norma) to very innocuous things (Eugene's taste in coffee, food, and literature). Her swiping his coffee in the command center is a common occurrence._

 _Changes from canon_ _: She's slightly more vocal about her dislike of Norma. And, unlike her canon version, despite her normally disciplined attitude, she has a mischievous side to her (she swipes Eugene's coffee, ladies and gentlemen).  
_


	3. Chapter 3: Fridge Dash

**A/N: Sorry about taking so long. Between studying for a certification exam, writer's block, and a loss of motivation, this took me forever to finish. I was originally going to make this chapter all about day one, but that would result in a 5000+ word chapter. So, I've decided to split it into two.**

 _ **Keep in mind:**_ **the characters are _not_ going to be completely 1:1 in behavior compared to canon, before anyone makes complaints. Also, I've been taking a lot of influence for my writing style from Raymond Chandler books. Expect to see small paragraphs and a lot of beige prose, with the occasional long, descriptive sentence.**

 **EDIT (5/17/2018): Cleaned up a misspelling or two. Just me being OCD.**

* * *

Angelise was as scared as they came. The shift of the man's behavior from fatherly to stringent was so jarring. It felt like one minute she was talking to the most kindhearted person since she got on the island, and then the next he was scary. Like Jill, but a man.

She took a quick look at the contents of the book, but she couldn't focus. Instead, her mind allowed itself to be preoccupied yet again: her mother being gunned down, the improper way she was handled, the cavity search. The last one had caused her nightmares last night, and it would tonight, too. She hadn't felt so scared to fall asleep in a long time, even _if_ she could get past the idea of sleeping soundly on an island full of Norma.

 _But…if he's not a Norma, then…what is…what is going? What should I do? Mother, father, Sylvia…if any of you could hear me, what would you have me do? Do I really belong here?_

Her hair got stuck against the mattress as Angelise curled in a ball in the bed. The mattress must have had metal springs. She managed to withstand them and get to sleep eventually, but the nightmares almost made staying up the whole night seems preferable by comparison.

Angelise was too caught up in them to put any effort into trying to escape and wake up…

* * *

 **05:15 the following morning**

 **Dormitories, directly outside Ange's room**

He didn't really like getting this extreme in waking new recruits up, especially ones that are so involved in their dreams. Whatever Ange was dreaming of, it had her tossing and turning in bed by the time he opened the door.

 _Dear Lord, Jill. Did you need to get_ _ **that**_ _aggressive with the search?_

Eugene would have liked to wake her up gently, and he would have if he was given his usual training time. But, he'd already given his 5 AM ultimatum, and Ange had failed to meet it — so, she'd learn the hard way what happens when you can't stay true to your word for Eugene. It was time to play Drill Sergeant Nasty (well, Nasty-lite, given Gene's nature, anyway) for the next six hours. Eugene looked down at the well-polished whistle.

 _Here goes nothing…_

Lungs completely full of air, he blew hard into the whistle, the shrill noise no doubt waking _everyone_ in this part of the dorms up. And, _boy_ , did Ange get affected — she jerked and hit her head against the wall before tumbling over off the bed and on the floor.

She moaned and shook her head, as if to clear the stars that were no doubt in her vision.

"Rise and shine, Ange!" Eugene said loudly and firmly. "It's oh-five-fifteen — that's past your wake-up time. Up and running!"

He literally scared the piss out of her. And a lot of it, too; he could see the stain right there on the floor.

"Why?" Ange croaked out through her groaning. "I'm princess of the Misurugi Empire. Why would you do that to _me_ , Major?"

"To _you_? You don't get any special treatment here in Arzenal, Ange, regardless of who you _were_ back in the world. The very _second_ there was irrefutable proof that you're a Norma, you lost that title. I tried to establish that yesterday in as polite a manner as I could — and I'll make sure you keep this in mind by the time the week is up," Eugene replied, sticking the whistle back into the chest pocket of his uniform — the same one he wore yesterday. "I gave you a choice: wake up on time or _be_ woken up. And I _did_ say I'd do it loudly. So, lesson one: when a superior in Arzenal gives you a goal to meet, you meet it. Bad things can happen if you don't—and whether you believe me or not, I was being _kind_ with this..."

Eugene sighed as he clasped his hands behind his back — practically his signature pose. He calmed his voice so that he no longer bordered on yelling, but he was still loud enough to emphasize just about everything he said — a sign that his words were not meant to be taken lightly.

"Because I know this _one_ trainer who would have actually _beaten_ you to near-death if you hadn't gotten up," Eugene firmly said, drawing a horrified look from Ange. "Doesn't matter if you came here as an adult or as a little girl, she'd do it as much for fun as she would for punishment, regardless…even if it landed her in a prison cell for months. Count your blessings, Ange — I'm going to be tough on you, but I'm also going to be fair towards you. And I'm certainly not _that_ witch. Now, unless you _want_ to make the week worse on yourself, get on your feet and get ready; you have five minutes."

Eugene extended his hand for Ange to take, but when she did, he tugged her to her feet, startling her. She panicked trying to find anything she needed—ultimately, she made an extremely hasty teeth-brushing session in around three minutes. And she already knew from the look he gave her that she was _not_ going to run a brush through her hair, however much Eugene suspected she'd want to. Then again, she might have been more used to having someone else do it for her—she used to be royalty, after all.

"Hangar, Ange," Eugene ordered. "Snap to it."

He wasn't wrong when he figured he'd woken everyone on this end of the dorms up — half of the occupied rooms had their residents peek out to see what the commotion was. They got a single glance at Eugene and the recruit that he took under his wing and simply went back to what they were doing after giving Gene bemused looks — anyone would get the impression from seeing their actions that Eugene waking up a late-riser in this manner was a semi-regular occurrence.

She must not have paid much attention during the tour or looked over the booklet thoroughly, if at all, since she seemed to simply stay in place after leaving the dorms, as if waiting for him to point her the right way.

"You didn't even _glance_ at the book, did you, Ange?"

"No, no, no. I did…it's just that…"

"It's just that…what? Should I have made my insistence an _order_?" Eugene asked. "You didn't check the premises maps in the back, did you? They're there for a reason—you're expected to memorize where everything is so that _no one_ should have to hold your hand. If you can't so much as _navigate_ on your own, how do you expect to survive here? This is _not_ your old life, Ange — there's no servant or maid to lead you to and from places."

Her shoulders sagged — Eugene had touched a nerve from mentioning her old life. He supposed that, if their roles were traded, he'd have done the same thing. He'd have preferred to make it easier on the girl, but he was only given a week — in this case, the bandage may very well _need_ to be ripped off.

"Look, Ange," Eugene sighed. "Don't make the mistake in thinking you are _alone_ in your emotions, because you're _not_. _Everyone_ here had an old life that was wrenched away from them — social status doesn't matter. You're _not_ special in that regard, however much you might think."

"Did…did _you_ have an old life before living here? With all these Norma?"

"Uh, uh, uh," Eugene admonished. "No questions about me. My past is _strictly_ off-limits. Now…unless you have an _important_ question for me, let's move on to the hangar."

They still remained in the T-shaped corridor when Eugene spoke.

"Ange…" Eugene deadpanned before pointing past her to the left side. " _That_ way…"

 **Para-mail Hangar and Runway**

 **5 minutes later**

 **Approximate Temperature: 61 degrees Fahrenheit**

Ange was immediately feeling the effects of the cold morning. Goosebumps were all over the place, helped in no way by the uniform worn by the residents — she'd catch a cold in this weather if he kept her out too long, which is why Eugene had an electric heater he was ready to start up after she made a dash.

Eugene would _definitely_ start feeling sorry for her once she got into the flight suit — even the engine temperature of a para-mail wouldn't eliminate the cold completely.

"No fair…" she complained, looking at the uniform Eugene wore, and the wool turtleneck of the sweater he wore underneath sticking up from the collar of the uniform.

"Arzenal isn't fair to a lot of people, Ange. Not even a former princess," Eugene said. "I had to _work_ to buy this uniform — it wasn't Arzenal-issued. You _need_ to get used to how cold it can be out here — a singularity could open up at any time of the day or the night, so you need to be ready to go regardless of the weather. It's better you learn _here_ than in the thick of combat where your life is at stake."

Eugene grinned. "Besides, what I'm having you do is likely to start warming you up. The runway is around a kilometer long — I've requested five hundred meters to ourselves. The ends are marked. What you will do is run as far as you can from one end to the other and, if you still have the energy, back again — ideally, you'll make one hundred meters and still have some energy to spare. This is just to gauge your stamina — don't _kill_ yourself doing it. If you come short of one hundred meters, then that just means we have to work to get you up to where you should be. Either way, I've got an electric heater I'll warm up after you're done. Just think of that, Ange: push as far as you can, and the better you do, the more time by the heater you get before getting back out there."

"Y-Y-Y-You'll be making me do this again?" Ange asked through rattling teeth.

"Until you can meet the mark or until Jill decides to take you out of my hands," Eugene answered. "Seriously, though: sooner you get on the line and start, the sooner you can get warmed up."

Eugene gestured where she was starting and where the five-hundred-meter mark was. As she walked over, rubbing her arms the whole way, Eugene pulled out an ornately decorated pewter pocket watch—its cover was embossed with a phoenix motif and with a cracked red gem tightly set in the center.

"On my 'go'!" Eugene called out as the second hand synchronized with the counting in his head. Five seconds, four seconds…

 _Three…Two…One, and…_

"Go, go, go!"

Perhaps he would be the only one on Arzenal who'd find Ange's start time at 5:20 AM on the dot to be amusing. She took off as fast as she could go in this weather. That is to say, not really fast, and with horrible form. Inefficient use of energy — energy that wasn't there due to a lack of breakfast.

Then again, that also helped in gauging her. If she could to a hundred meters cold, and on an empty stomach, then she could probably-

 _THUNK!_

Spoke too soon: Ange either dropped down from fatigue or tripped. Either way, she didn't get back up to continue. Eugene walked to where she was, examining the stretch he had set up.

"Thirty-four meters…" Eugene concluded. "Better than _most_ first-timers, but…"

Eugene extended his hand to pull Ange to her feet. He was a tad stern with it, too, yanking her up after she took his hand.

"We have a _lot_ of work to do. The heater is right over there," he gestured with his head. "Go on, walk over."

"After all that…walk by _myself_?"

"You dashed thirty-four meters at a full sprint on your own power, Ange," Eugene said, pacing around the doubled-over girl. "You've got more in you than you're giving yourself credit for. A simple ten-meter _walk_ should not tire you out." And then he bluffed, "Your rest time starts right now…in the cold…where you risk _catching_ a cold. You want to stay warm and lower that risk, move _now_. The clock's running."

"No, you can't be…you're lying…"

Clever girl. He reinforced his bluff by emphasizing the pocket watch he was holding, tapping several times on the sapphire crystal face. The motion _screamed_ "clock's ticking".

"Am I? Do you _want_ to risk that, Ange? Move now, talk later," Eugene said sternly, nudging Ange to take her steps.

Eugene's goal wasn't _necessarily_ to have his motivation and attitude towards Ange to be hard to predict, but it's quite clear that that's exactly what he accomplished. Ange was frightened and confused, unable to figure out if Eugene would be tough or gentle towards her during her time under his wing. It showed in her haste to get away from him and to the running heater.

Eugene supposed it would likely be best to switch these attitudes like a pendulum. He shouldn't be afraid to get forceful… _verbally_ , of course. He wasn't the type to beat new recruits…

He spoke gently most of yesterday, growing _very_ firm towards the end. And now, here he was, making her dash in the early morning chill. And this approach was hardly exclusive to Ange — everyone under his tenure went through this after the first week.

Eugene walked over to the huddling Ange by the heater and pulled up a small crate to sit on, slipping his pocket watch back in his uniform.

"Well, Ange," Eugene started with a sigh. "I can't exactly say I'm surprised by your inability to reach the distance quota. Still, the distance you _did_ reach is rather good—most recruits I've been given has failed to even reach _twenty_ meters, let alone your thirty-four. You're one of the higher placers of my Fridge Dash. You'll be doing the dash again mid-week and at the end."

"Why?" Ange chattered slightly, the warmth of the heater not having completely settled in. "Why am I doing all this? I already know how to run."

"Really?" Eugene asked as he raised an eyebrow. "Then why are you so exhausted before reaching even fifty meters? The best of us can make two kilometers easily with some energy to spare."

"I've _never_ had to run like this back home!" Ange snapped…only to realize that she had raised her voice against her trainer. The shocked look on her face told Eugene that she was expecting him to do something as traumatizing as Jill's cavity search.

"No, I suppose you _didn't_ , Ange. And it shows in your form. But these are the facts, and I'm _going_ to keep bringing it up until you come to accept it: the Misurugi Empire is not your home, anymore. This place is because the humans back on the mainland say so," Eugene said, maintaining a calm demeanor, but still looking hard enough in Ange's eyes to put the fear of God into her. "Think, Ange. I read your file — I know _exactly_ where you were when you were exposed, and I happen to know that _no less_ than a hundred people saw you dissipate that Mana barrier. Think: the very second you were exposed, what were the reactions of those around you? Did you have people in the crowd you were close to, perhaps?"

* * *

Angelise's mind thought back to that day — her mother died, that barrier came down, the accusations that she "lied" about being a Norma. All that hate suddenly being directed to her.

"Yes, but…They're wrong. I'm not Norma — if I was, I would have known all this time," she said, shaking her head, the nightmares she had over the night surfacing along with the slivers of sunlight seeping into the hangar.

"You never had to be put in a position to use Mana. I read the report: your maid did it on your behalf," Eugene said, not taking his eyes off her. "Your parents must have known, yet they never told you…why?"

"I…" Angelise trailed.

No. It was a mistake — it had to be. Those were her parents; they wouldn't have kept that a secret from her. Why? Why _wouldn't_ they tell her?

"It…no, there has to be an explanation…the Light of Mana doesn't reach this far…"

"It does, and that human has a name: Emma Bronson. You've met — she shackled you when you arrived," Eugene said. "The Light of Mana reaches _everywhere_ in this world, Ange. You being a Norma is the only _rational_ explanation there is."

"N-no! There's another: it…it simply hasn't manifest for me yet," Angelise said, squeezing her eyes shut. "L-Light of Mana!"

She held out her arms, willing a barrier to come up, like she had seen in the past. For a moment, she felt like it was working — she saw light as she cracked her eyes open, but it was odd. Orange…not the green hue she'd seen with Mana in the past.

"Ange…the glow is coming from the _heater_ , not from your hands," Eugene interrupted her confused thoughts, face in his hand. "Take a minute to let that sink in, will you?"

Heater…that's what she saw. The glow…orange hue…heat coming from it, not unlike a fireplace she sat next to in the palace. Angelise sat back, bringing her knees to her chest — she didn't want to believe it at all, but things were stacking against her. Did the Light of Mana have a will of its own, and was toying with her?

"Ange, Ange…Angelise, look at me," the baritone voice, drowned by her thoughts, spoke to her. She felt fingers cup her chin and turn her to face Eugene.

Amethyst eyes…they were firm, yet gentle. Beautiful, yet fear-inspiring. They were inconsistent, at war with each other. Even if only for a brief moment, the stringent trainer that pushed her to run like that seemed to have taken a step back, leaving the warm man that talked to her yesterday in front of her face.

"Ange, look over your shoulder, through those open shutters on the far side of the hangar," Eugene gently nudged her face into that direction. As she looked, she saw a small building at the end of a long path up high.

"That building used to be a human guard's barracks, supposedly from when the Norma population here was small enough to be policed by them," Eugene said, fatherly voice growing firmer, but still being calm. "Now, it's simply there for storage. It's around a kilometer between there and this hangar, as the bird flies—simple enough, in theory. But what you _aren't_ seeing is that there is difficult terrain between that building and the rest of Arzenal's buildings. There are many points where the inclines become steeper, and starting tomorrow, you're making the hike. How fast or slow you go is up to you, but I'm still coming with to make sure you don't get injured."

Her ability to listen or even give a reply was shot. She felt so hungry that she could-

Her stomach growled, but then, so did Eugene's - even louder than hers. Tension in the atmosphere dropped sharply, and the conflicted feelings she'd had since waking up seemed to dissipate, if only for a short time. And they disappeared completely when Eugene broke out in quiet laughter.

"Looks like we've got a change of plans, here, Ange," he said with a chuckle. "I'm turning off the heater…"

Tension in her mind climbed back up but hit rock bottom with the Major's next words.

"…and going to take you _with_ me to the cafeteria…"

What? What was _going on_!? Gentle and fatherly, a firm trainer, and now he was being a _prankster_? Angelise practically gaped like a fish over the mood whiplash.

"It's impolite to stare, Ange. Don't tell me you _want_ to continue on an empty stomach?"

What was _wrong_ with this place!?

 **Eugene Valentinus**

 _Additional insight into Eugene's mental state reveals that, while firm when needed, he can still be fatherly to his trainees. But what catches almost every single one of them off guard is the occasional goofball behavior he can display, including deviant behavior when he was still piloting, such as "buzzing the tower" (usually while Bronson is the only one in the command center). However, these childish outbursts should be considered the exception rather than the rule._

* * *

 **A/N: Yes, the sudden jumps in behavior _are_ intentional. Eugene is a mishmash of personalities rolled up into one man. And yes, "buzzing the tower" is a _Top Gun_ reference.  
**


	4. Chapter 4: Don't Lose Heart

**A/N: So, here's another part of the chapter. I have to be honest, this went through several drafts, and I still don't think it's exactly where I want it to be. Regardless, this is what you're getting.**

 **And before we get into it, let me just give a quick fanfic recommendation. Consider checking it out, readers. "Cross Ange: The Knight of Hilda" - the author has also offered me input on my own fic here, as well. He's making steady progress on it, and I like where its headed so far. Godspeed, man.**

 **Let's shoot for five followers in total this chapter.**

 **Without further ado, let's get into it...**

* * *

 **Cafeteria**

 **05:40**

 **Eugene**

A voice stopped Eugene as he led Ange into the (mostly) empty cafeteria.

"Hey, Genie," the woman's voice said. "Long time, no nagging."

Oh, dear God. Exactly _one_ woman referred to him as "Genie".

Eugene and Ange looked to the left, just next to the door where they entered from. The woman was a beautiful brunette with green eyes. Her hair was gathered up in a ponytail, with long bangs lining her sharp facial features. And she was quite tall, too – the tallest woman in Arzenal, in fact.

An old comrade and a scout for Arzenal: Sage Wolcott. Once upon a time, she was a nobleman's daughter from the Kingdom of Rosenblum, the heir to her family's prestigious name. That changed when she was a young girl at the mere age of seven, upon revelation that she was a Norma, whereupon she was disowned as the heir and shipped off to Arzenal – it was politics, supposedly, and nothing personal.

She and Eugene have been friends for the past twelve years. They were never an item, but they were both skilled pilots that operated well together. It was weird seeing her back—she tended to operate away from Arzenal for extended periods of time.

"Sage. Surprised to see you h-," Eugene was cut off when Sage suddenly stepped forward and embraced him. "Ugh. Easy! I like this uniform – don't wrinkle it. When did -?"

There _was_ such a thing as being _too_ affectionate – which was _precisely_ what she was doing.

"When did I _get_ here? Just last night – wanted to keep it a surprise," Sage said, letting go before she looked at Ange. "Who's the girl?"

"Sage," Eugene cleared his throat as he gently nudged her away. "This here is Ange. She just transferred in two days ago."

"From the looks of her…you've put her through the Fridge Dash so soon? That's not like you during the first week, Eugene," Sage asked as she bent slightly to bring her face to Ange's. "You tend to be very easy on the newcomers."

"Yes, well…" Eugene sighed. "Ugh. Sage, would you mind walking Ange to a table? I'll put together a little food for us."

"Eugene…I mean, Major, um…" Ange trailed nervously, as if afraid to speak up. "You cook, too?"

"Just the one recipe, Ange. _Anyone_ could make scrambled eggs, after all," Eugene said, gritting his teeth in embarrassment. "But could you _kindly_ focus on the day ahead and not on me? Otherwise, I could think of something that would _get_ you to. You understand, right?"

She seemed to comprehend that he very well _could_ make her do the Fridge Dash again so soon, so she responded with a nod. Yes, he _could_ , but he won't. It was a bluff on his part; just like the "tiny break" threat.

"Good," Eugene said as he walked off, unbuttoning his uniform's coat in the process.

Let's see: butter, a lot of eggs, ham…with spatula and knife. Dice the hell out of…

 _Damn it…_

He was going to have to wear The Apron in order to keep _any_ part of his uniform clean – the one Ersha wore all the time when she was cooking things up here.

 _Please…do_ _ **not**_ _let me be caught in it…not by her, not by_ _ **anyone**_ _…_

Things went to Hell several minutes later when Ersha walked in and caught him in the apron. Much awkwardness ensued…

* * *

 **At the same time, outside of the kitchens**

 **Ange**

This Norma, Sage…Angelise found she wasn't unpleasant to listen to. She loved to talk, loved to gossip, and before long in their interaction, Angelise started hearing gossip even about Eugene…or "Genie", as Sage called him. Angelise knew it was a play on his name, but she couldn't stop the sudden image of Eugene popping out of some magic lamp in a fairy tale. She shouldn't have been laughing, but she did.

" _Genie" …the name doesn't suit him…_

"Oh, you should see his _bedroom_ ," Sage said, giggling sensuously. "He _loves_ antiques - maps, chessboards, lamps. And he collects clocks and watches - nothing weird about that. Right?"

"I don't know. _Should_ it sound weird to me? Is what's weird for me normal for a Norma?"

"You must not have talked to a lot of humans, growing up. Collecting clocks is something _humans_ do, too, I hear. Even my father did, back in his heyday. It's not a turn-on for _me_ , Ange," Sage started. "But do you want the _definition_ of weird?"

Eugene Valentinus…weird? She got the impression that Eugene was unpredictable, true, but not weird– what could _possibly_ make him come off as weird?

"I've caught Genie staying up one night of each month making sure _every_ clock of his, from the big grandfather clock to his favorite pocket watch, was synchronized _perfectly_ …right down to the millisecond," Sage said. "He's obsessive-compulsive about accuracy. And I'm not even joking – if he's telling you the time, he's _never_ wrong. If someone is as little as a second behind time, he'll _know_ it."

That _was_ weird…

"He can be weird, but he's not insane. He's very good at what he does – you should take him training you as a _compliment_. He only ever handpicks those his instincts say will become the very best – and his instincts are rarely wrong," Sage said. "I'm surprised he's putting you through all of this on the first week, though. Newcomers usually have fourteen weeks."

It was a haze, but Angelise flashed back to yesterday mere moments after seeing a pinkette enter the kitchens.

 _"Remember, Major: you have one week to get her adapted and ready."_

"He's…he's doing it because…that's the time he was allowed…" Angelise trailed.

"Jill gave him only a single _week_!?" Sage asked, surprise lacing her voice. "What is going through that woman's mind? I hope he's not planning on making it Hell Week."

They heard raised voices in the kitchen – sounded like very juvenile squabbles. Mere minutes later, Eugene came back with a pair of plates, face flush red with embarrassment. And next to him was the pinkette Angelise saw moments ago, and she looked like she was barely containing laughter.

"Ersha…if I hear a _single_ word about what you saw reaching _anyone_ …you're literally grounded for the next month," Eugene told the pinkette. He set down both plates, filled with buttery scrambled eggs and cubed ham. He looked hard into Sage's eyes.

"I know that look, Sage. What tales about me have you been sharing _this_ time?"

* * *

 **Arzenal Command Center, Same Time**

 **Jill**

Jill sighed as she signed and stamped "No" on yet another reinstatement request by Eugene. That was the third one this month, all given similar reasoning: his medical test showing he was in no danger from the shrapnel still embedded in his back. The fragment in question occurred against a Brig-Class DRAGON when a glory hound of a para-mail pilot broke off to take it on herself and got a cadet killed and half the First Troop incapacitated for a week.

Eugene was too close to the cadet's explosion while in Flight Mode and caught metal fragments in the process. The injuries were terrible: three broken ribs, a closed fracture of the right arm's ulna, an oblique fracture of the left leg's tibia, and fragmentation buried at various points and depths within the torso. The medical staff concluded that one fragment could not be safely removed without him bleeding to death – so, after surgery, he spent several weeks in the ICU.

His injuries were only a _part_ of the reason she kept him grounded. They _did_ serve as a convenient excuse to get him off the field, but Jill's _real_ concern was his on-the-field attitude. While generally an adherent to the books, Eugene was nonetheless a prime example of a maverick pilot, which made him harder than the other pilots to keep under control if he felt there was a better option available.

Put simply, he was _not_ a submissive person.

Besides, Jill failed to see how aiming to fly _into_ a Singularity constituted a sensible action on his part.

And he had gotten far more aggressive on the field in the years leading up to his injuries. For Jill's goals, that made him a potential problem…

 _But…there's another reason, Jill. You know it.  
_

She really should not be allowing herself to feel for him. After the failure of Libertus and what happened then, the very idea of allowing her emotion to prod her into accepting him into her life on such an intimate level frightened her. It was just a wall, an act, she kept reminding herself. Sharing her bed with him was simply for solace.

 _Right?  
_

Regardless of her feelings for him, Eugene was still too important to risk before the new Libertus started – even if _Vilkiss_ was never mastered, there was always _Berlioz_. And it worked for no one else…just for him.

" _Sometimes I feel like Berlioz is alive…alive and reading my every thought,"_ Eugene had once said to her. _"It's like she fires a split second before I pull the triggers, like she reacts at the speed of thought, like her engines are conducting an orchestra and like every sudden change in inertia is a crescendo in a melody. She plays only for_ _ **me**_ _. It's like she_ _ **is**_ _me…Has Villkiss ever given you such a feeling?"_

Perhaps _Villkiss_ did, once upon a time. But no more…perhaps it could release its full potential for Ange, Jill thought as she eyed the royal ring Ange had. Or perhaps that full potential died along with the loss of Jill's own ring and the arm it was attached to. So, if Ange couldn't use and master _Villkiss_ , Eugene would have no other choice than to be Arzenal's ace in the hole. _Berlioz_ would have to be the trump card.

* * *

 **Back in the cafeteria**

 **Eugene**

"You've got to be shitting me," Sage said, letting loose with the very first profanity they've heard since she got back. "And she wants you to squeeze as much of your fourteen-week regimen into one week in the process?"

"Yes, she did. I don't joke about things like this, Sage. You know that," Eugene replied. "Jill wanted Ange here in the First Troop right out of the gate. I had to talk her into letting me take Ange under my wing first. After all, Zola is…Sage, Ersha, you _both_ know as well as well as I do how… _fond_ …Zola is of new cadets."

"Fond…?" Ange tested out the word. "What does that mean out _here_?"

"Well, Ange, I'll be blunt: Zola has a harem. That includes most members of the First Troop you're transferring to – and to her, the newer the member, the better," Eugene said, inflection flat, as if he's informed many others of this fact before. "She tends to focus more on hedonistic desires in her free time than training newcomers."

"What Genie is _really_ saying is that Zola will spend more time trying to get into your pants rather than train you," Sage said. "I'd say, Genie is the more favorable option."

This feeding of information caused Ange to nearly choke on what remained of her eggs. To say she was likely _disturbed_ by the idea of her future superior attempting to molest her was an _understatement_ – rather, she seemed outright terrified by the prospect.

"Not the phrasing I would have used, but yes," Eugene said. "Woman has strange priorities. So, I decided it would be better if you do basic training under me."

"What is… _wrong_ with this island?"

"Nothing's wrong with the island, Ange," Eugene said. "It's the _residents_ that can get eccentric."

Sage leaned against Eugene and poked her finger against his cheek. "Such as collecting clocks and making sure they're all running at the same time? _That's_ as eccentric as anyone else here, Genie."

"Says the fully grown woman who spends her leisure time and money buying Perolina merchandise and lining all four walls of her room with Perolina posters," Eugene jabbed back, his voice deadpan. "And that's _before_ getting into your mirror and you posing with Perolina costumes. Hmph…child."

It was common knowledge that Eugene had a heavy distaste for Perolina merchandise. He tolerated it for the younger residents, like Vivian, but Sage was twenty-seven years old – a grown up. It was annoying to see someone who was supposed to be mature have such childish interests. You'd almost think that she had never hit adulthood. Chess and clocks, on the other hand, were forms of art.

"Everybody's got to have a hobby, Genie," Sage mock-cried.

"Then don't judge my taste…" Eugene said, opening the face of his pocket watch. "Ange, it's nearly 6AM. There is a small gym on Arzenal. Few people go there, so we've got it to ourselves – we're going there next. Physical strength evaluation over the next hour, then I'm going to make you learn _how to run_. And then, comes the fun part."

Ange groaned a little, doubtless still reeling from the Fridge Dash, but quickly learned to be quiet for the rest of her meal, lest he decided to do the Fridge Dash again. It's already become a fear of hers, it seemed.

"Ersha caught you?" Sage asked.

"Don't say a _single_ word…"

"My lips are sealed, Genie. For old time's sake…"

* * *

 **Arzenal's gym, 09:00**

The tiny gym was empty for nearly the last three hours that they were here. As Eugene had figured, Ange suffered extreme flat-footedness and wasn't making efficient use of stamina because of it. He would have showed her how it was done, but his apparel just wasn't practical enough to demonstrate it. He'd save the finer points for tomorrow, but he did break down the basic concept.

And then came the strength tests.

Ange had stopped the lateral rows, having all but exhausted her back. It was nothing particularly heavy – just shy of fifteen kilograms, in fact – but it nonetheless gave Eugene a good idea of where Ange stood. The deal was that she kept each muscle working until fatigue started to set in, whereupon she could stop, and then given the time to rest and do some minor build up.

All told, for someone who had only the basic muscular functionality due to day-to-day tasks, Ange was rather typical for her age across the board. The work they would do was going to be minor in comparison to everything else – after all, the bread and butter of the First Troop was top-notch piloting, not infantry work. Still, it never really hurt to be prepared for such eventualities.

And maybe the stint this week would encourage her to keep sharp on her own initiative – once she was out of Eugene's hands, the rest would be up to her.

"Okay, Ange; there's bad news and good news," Eugene said, clearly back to all-business. "The bad news is that in addition the future Fridge Dashes this week, you'll be taking some stressful weight training. And by 'stressful', I mean take what you did now and multiply it by around three – more than enough to get you off the ground for when you transfer over."

"Every day this week?" Ange said, each word punctuated by panting. "I can't do it – I don't belong here. There's no way. There's no way I can keep this up…"

"You _will_ be able to keep it up when I'm done with you. Between this and the Fridge Dash, I'll be working you up to your limits so that you'll know what they are…and gain the drive to surpass them," Eugene said firmly, forcing her to look at him when he shifted her chin with his fingers. "When I'm done with you, you will _not_ go down gently like lesser soldiers. You will not break under pressure like lesser soldiers. You will _not_ lose heart in the direst of situations like lesser people. You will learn to go beyond your _imagined_ limits, so that when things inevitably go wrong, you will adapt and come out on top. And can your seemingly- _simple_ mind tell me what the first step is?"

Ange was breathing hard with the words that were bludgeoning her right in her face, and she shook her head in response.

"The first step is refusing to lose heart in _yourself_ , Ange. And if you want that in _children's_ words: _pull yourself together_ and keep at it, Ange."

The silence between them was so thick one could suffocate if it had any form of tangibility. It was clear _something_ in his message was getting through to the girl, but there was confusion in her eyes that spoke to him.

 _She's probably asking to herself, "How? How can I turn this around? Is keeping faith in myself simple?" She's still under the impression that she doesn't belong here. That mindset is rarely lost – hell, it might_ _ **never**_ _be lost. But I_ _ **know**_ _she'll lose it, somehow._

"What's…what's the good news?" Ange asked, waving off the tension.

"The good news is that there's no further Fridge Dash today, and we're just about finished here," Eugene said, grinning. "We'll get that running form fixed before the week is up. Now, if you're _smart_ , you might want to grab something to eat right now – and try to find the cafeteria _yourself_ , this time. Retrace our steps; simple enough. You'll need a lot of energy, because the _fun_ begins soon at ten o'clock – learning to fly. Conquering the sky itself…"

* * *

 **Sage Wolcott**

Age: 27

Height: 6'0"

Weight: 53 kg

 _Formerly heir to the family legacy of the Wolcotts of the Kingdom of Rosenblum, Sage was shipped off to Arzenal at the age of seven. Though her parents were aware of and indifferent to her status as a Norma, they disowned her and shipped her off to maintain a good public image. Sage and Eugene are old friends and comrades from the original Libertus, and fought together in a squadron that Eugene and István together founded. She loves ruffling Eugene's feathers with the nickname "Genie". A seemingly big bubble of optimism and cheer, she's a lover of Perolina-themed accessories and decorations. Her para-mail is a Glaive heavily modified for fast, long-distance flights with high-speed and high efficiency engines - it is primarily for scouting and light skirmishes rather than full combat, as armor and raw firepower was sacrificed due to this shift in priorities.  
_


	5. Chapter 5: Atypical Approach

**A/N: Hello, all. I'm back with a new chapter, and already, the strain of trying to keep this train rolling is hitting me. From this point forward, you can start expecting a longer time between updates. Also, I'm going to be taking additional artistic liberties concerning functionality of some technologies in the series. Without further ado, let's go.**

* * *

 **Simulators**

 **Ange**

"Welcome to the simulators Ange," Major Valentinus started. "When we're not going through your physical conditioning, this is the place we'll be. It's imperative that you learn how to fly a para-mail – this will be your primary weapon here at Arzenal."

"It's…Major…it's a box of some kind," Angelise said. An imperfect box; one end was tapered off into an oblong part.

"It's a pod, Ange, and it looks nothing like the para-mail you'll be riding," the Major said. "The controls inside, however, will be rather close to what you'll see on the genuine article – and the simulator itself is close to what you'd see on the field, with one major difference: you _won't_ die if you crash or are destroyed in the simulator."

 _Die…_

Angelise was afraid. The DRAGONS described in the orientation, the risks of piloting she skimmed over in the booklet, the high speeds and height described in the same…she was afraid to set foot inside the simulator, let alone fly out there "on the field", as the Major called it.

"There is, however, one caveat you have to meet before setting foot in either one," the Major said before pointing off through a door. "Under _normal_ circumstances, you'd be donning the piloting suit in the locker room, with everyone else…naked. I took the liberty of putting a piloting suit and mirror in that closet for privacy's sake…and a word of warning…wait, I think I'll let you figure that part out."

"What? What is it? What are you talking about, Major?" she asked as she took a step forward, ready to shake him for answers in comical cartoon fashion. But he put his hand out and nudged her back.

"No. If I told you, you'd never even _consider_ the idea, Ange," the Major said. "Closet. Piloting suit. Snap to it."

When she stepped into the lit closet, she saw the mirror and the _exact_ reason that she wasn't warned: the piloting suit was more revealing than what she'd been wearing up until now. She nearly shrieked in horror.

"Why!?" she yelped loud enough to be heard outside the closet. "Why must I wear something so…so…revealing!?"

"The engine temperatures can reach hot enough to cause heat exhaustion in long term in heavy clothing, but yes – it _is_ revealing. Perhaps more to the point, the piloting suit acts as an interface between you and the para-mail," the Major said. "It allows the para-mail's on-board computers to keep you informed about your airspeed altitude, targeting systems, and damage reports without having to look down at the screen. To a degree, you can also control with your mind what information is displayed and when, and even influence its movements, but we'll discuss that later in the curriculum. Unless you'd like to head out naked, it's in your best interests to get that on."

As she held the revealing clothing, she realized that this was nothing like what she wore now – which _also_ extended to getting it on. She started blushing, mulling it over in her mind how to best ask her question…

"Major? Could you…?"

"Well? Could I…what, Ange?"

"Could you help me get this on…sir?"

There was whispering outside. Angelise could barely make out the grumble of "You've _got_ to be kidding me."

"Fine, but just this once, Ange," the Major said, barely-contained embarrassment in his voice as he stepped into the space to help. And in the process, he was being gentlemanly – he refused to comment on her body or make any foul moves.

It was like having Momoka and her parents around again, having them help her try new dresses on – but then the memory contrasted with reality, and the understanding that there might be no way back home, to her father or to Momoka, left her feeling hollow. Eugene was gentle with this, but it just didn't feel the same.

"There you are – snugger on you than I'd thought, but it will serve the training purpose."

"Snug" was putting it lightly. It chafed – in fact, she wasn't sure if this was just due to the size or if every Norma had such a problem with this outfit. It was hard to walk without discomfort.

"It's not comfortable, Major…"

"So? You've done the Fridge Dash and the weights and _now_ you complain about comfort? Ange, I _really_ hate to be the bearer of bad news, but the comforts you'll get in your time here will be sparse," the Major chided in a deadpan fashion, the mood between them whiplashing back from embarrassing to serious. " _If_ you can get those comforts, treasure them while they last."

"First, you don't check the map…then you don't know how to dress…complaining about comfort…what's next? Forgetting how to eat? Perish the thought," the Major said before reaching over to open the simulator hatch. "Climb in – you should notice a port in the rear. Plug the cable that's part of the flight suit in and let's get started."

The controls looked so overwhelming. Handles, gauges, even peddles – apparently, the gauges and displays are for glancing at "if it's absolutely _necessary_ to look at the information not displayed on your visor". The door shut, and a frighteningly accurate image of the hangar they were in early this morning materialized around her.

"Report unit status for launch…"

She had tuned it out as she was locked inside her emotions. She was intimidated, and yet…something about the idea of flying made a piece of her excited, rather than apprehensive.

It was one of those things that preceded a game of…

"Initializing Mission 7! LAUNCH!" the Major yelled.

 **[A/N: Cue "Mighty Wings" by Cheap Trick]**

She screamed as her body was yanked back, kept in place by her legs against the pedals and her hands keeping a death grip on the handles. Her stomach was kicked downstairs when she took off into the artificial sky – the speed it felt like she was moving at was overwhelming as she watched what the Major called the "altimeter" increase in number in her visor.

"Leveling nose out and rolling right…" the Major said over the radio. "Alright, Ange. You're going to nosedive, and I'm handing over manual control to you…"

"Nosedive!? Nose-DIIIIIIIVE!" she yelled as her lungs were kicked upstairs and backwards from the sudden change in inertia.

"Ange, Ange, listen to me! Take a deep breath, calm yourself, and level your nose out!"

The shock…it was getting to her. But…but then…

 _This feeling…could it be…? The fear and excitement before taking off…_

Her heart slowed, but still hammered hard. Could it really be…?

"Ange, you're running out of altitude! Pull up, immediately!"

She did the only think what remained of her rational thoughts told her to do: she pulled back on the handles, her altitude reading around ninety meters when the para-mail changed course and pulled up, her altimeter climbing again in a matter of seconds. She wasn't even aware that she rolled the craft afterwards until she was already upside down, leveling it out with minimal effort.

 _It is! It feels just like Iaria, again! It feels like I can do anything in this!_

* * *

 **Eugene**

He dropped the opened hip flask he had pulled out during the pre-launch checks and choked on its contents when he saw the results. No one ever pulled out of that nosedive the first try fully intact… _no one_. And not with so much sky remaining.

 _Unreal…this is just…unreal! That's never happened!_

He picked up and concealed his hip flask again when he heard a door open. Looking to his right, he saw the entire First Troop entering, fully geared up.

"It's Papa Gene!" Vivian exclaimed, borderline jumping for joy up and down.

"Eugene, darling," Zola teased, approaching him with gentle hands. "What are you doing in the simulators?"

"Zola, give it a rest. I'm training the newest transfer – you are _not_ going to believe this, girls: she's pulled out of the nosedive…on her very _first_ try," Eugene said, shock in his voice.

"What? How? It took me at least five dives to pull out of that in my first session," Chris blurted out. "She did it, first shot? No way!"

"I am _not_ joking – you can see the playback for yourself," Eugene said before taking a deep breath, reasserting his calm manner, and keying the radio. "Okay, Ange: you've managed to pull out of that nosedive without getting killed, which is a good thing in my book. You've already got the basics of Flight Mode down – I was _planning_ on stopping once you'd learned them, but…let's take it a step _further_ , since you're already in the simulator…a challenge course: I call it the 'Big Skyscraper Slalom' – a perfect replica of a city."

"You're putting her through _that_ so early?" Salia questioned. "Are you going to make her to the Canyon Run early, too? You _never_ do that to a first-timer."

"Atypical individuals, atypical circumstances…atypical approach. Besides I'm saving the Canyon Run for…later," Eugene replied before keying again. "Are you familiar with the capital city of the Rasalhague Republic, Ange? It has some of the highest buildings back in Mana society – not the tightest cluster of obstacles, but still congested. The challenge is that you must fly through the nav-points I'll project on your visor and reach the finish in less than two-and-a-half minutes, a generous time limit. Zola holds the First Troop's record at a minute and thirty-eight seconds – my personal best is at a minute and twelve seconds."

"Um…Major? What _aren't_ you telling me now!?" Ange came in over the radio.

"The catch is that if you go outside of a certain altitude range, wander too far from the course, crash, _or_ fail to finish in the time provided, you will have to run the course again from the beginning," Eugene responded. "And you'll _keep_ trying until you place – you're _not_ leaving that simulator without doing so. Do it quick enough, and we might get a head start on the Assault Mode basics before the day's up."

"Uh…alright?" Eugene could practically hear her swallow on the other side.

"You pulled out of a nosedive that _no one_ has been able to on their very first run, Ange. That was a textbook performance," Eugene chided. "Remember step one, Ange. Do _not_ say you can't do it."

"Major, I…Fine…Fine, I'll do it…"

"Good. I'm switching the simulator environment now…initializing Challenge 1…there," Eugene said. "Starting ring is ahead of you, fly through when you're ready."

The First Troop was still standing around him and eying the screen.

"What is this? The puppet theater at the preschool?" Eugene asked when he took his finger off the transmitter. "Zola, you've got two other rookies with you – shouldn't you be teaching them?"

"Thanks for reminding me, darling," Zola said. "Salia, Ersha: I want you two showing Coco and Miranda the ropes. Everyone else, start your simulator pre-launch checks."

"YES, MA'AM!"

"What?" Eugene asked as everyone except Zola left. "Aren't you going with?"

"I figured I may as well see the princess's performance before she transferred over to the First Troop," Zola said.

"So, Jill filled you in on the details, huh?" Eugene asked as he looked at the screen that showed things from Ange's helmet cam. Current time was at fifty seconds, and crash count is at zero…

 _Spoke too soon…count is at one._

"Mhm, why wouldn't she?"

"Keep at it, Ange. You'll get eventually," Eugene keyed over the radio, before letting off on it.

"Good point," Eugene sighed. "Look, Zola…I need to address your 'tastes' before Ange transfers in. I may or may not have…overexaggerated your antics to motivate her. Nevertheless, I'd dial it back around her, if I were you: that means no excessive flirting or groping. Consider this both a standing order _and_ a personal request – I'm not much fond of the idea of losing her on the field due to a bad wedge existing between you two. She _might_ still be volatile by the time she transfers over, and she may end up trying to ditch the very first chance she gets. As necessary as it is to get it into her head that life here is harsh, pushing too hard will just end in disaster."

"Mmh, like you did with Rita…" Zola said, her posture unreadable.

"Yeah…I wonder if she wouldn't have rushed off right behind Nasty Natalie if I had been just a little more understanding towards her. And to think I'm the _specialist_ in cases like hers," Eugene said. "Seriously, I still think about that each day."

"I do, too…We got careless that time, Gene. Given a second chance, it would never happen again…not on _your_ watch," Zola sighed. "The First Troop misses you, you know? They still look up to you. A lot of the unit's spirit died when you were taken off. It's taken my all to at least _try_ to pull the team together again."

"And I'd say you did a good job. What's the discussion here, Zola?" Eugene asked before looking over and resuming his thoughts on Ange's performance, not noticing the slight shaking of Zola's head.

"Crash count is at three, but finish time is two minutes and three seconds," Eugene remarked before keying the radio. "Textbook flying, Ange, if a little slow. You've placed – I'm uploading two nav-points on your visor. Take the point right ahead if you want to try for a better time, otherwise go to the point around sixty-degrees to your right to proceed to the basics of Assault Mode."

The crashes must have really gotten to her, because Ange didn't so much as hesitate to go to the Assault Mode waypoint. Eugene flipped through the simulated environments on record, until he settled on Arzenal at midday.

"Reverting environment back to Mission 7…done…"

"You really _do_ need to loosen up, Gene," Zola said before walking off to the rest of the First Troop.

* * *

 **Ange**

Her heart was still pounding despite the lack of any real danger of death. Every corner felt like a threat to her after her first crash…something to be avoided. Sharp turns, dodging towers right in front of her…it felt like what she'd learned on the hoverbikes in Iaria was becoming less relevant as the course dragged on. True, she did more than a few rolls and pitches, but to make tight turns to avoid crashing into buildings? That became something she wasn't prepared for, and at such speeds.

So, when the Major had given her the choice, she was _not_ eager to run the course again. When the few seconds of white and gray passed, she found herself over the island that was serving as her prison. Except, it wasn't the real thing.

"Right, then," the Major said over the radio. "Ange, there's a few major things to know right away when dealing with Assault Mode. Firstly, it's not as mobile or fast as Flight Mode, and it offers a better field of fire than Flight Mode. Transforming from one to the other involves use of both the handles and the peddles – if you've ever ridden a hoverbike, the concept should be familiar, albeit with different results. I'll walk you through it…"

When she followed his instructions, she was taken off-guard when the handles came loose and rotated straight upwards. What was _this_? Mechanical whirring could be heard, and part of the simulated para-mail slammed over her like a clam sheltering itself from the elements. Through a new simulated screen, she saw a pair of mechanical arms, springing from her craft.

"Keep a hand on the joysticks, Ange. Those control your para-mail's arms and fingers," the Major said. "You've made your simulated transition to Assault Mode – you'll be using the mode more often than anything on the field. First few things to note is that the thrusters that pushed you through the air are now keeping you in the sky, so your forward momentum in this mode is more limited; on the other hand, your thrusters hand now push you side to side and turn you around in place – what you lose in speed, you gain in additional movement options. If you need to escape a situation quickly, just shift back into Flight Mode. Now, for maneuvering: it may look intimidating, but maneuvering the para-mail in this mode is quite easy, Ange…that's wha—"

Ange's mind clicked back to what was said when she complained about the piloting suit. Her intuition spoke before her rational thoughts could even form the words.

"That must be what the suit is for!" she exclaimed before clamming up, realizing she just interrupted her trainer.

"Exactly! To a degree, through your cable, the para-mail reads the movements of the armored parts of your suit, then mimics them with its own parts. However, the design of the para-mail itself determines how quickly it responds – you're in a simulated Glaive, so the delay is not that bad," the Major explained. "In something as sluggish as a Hauser, however, you can expect a noticeable delay between your input and the para-mail's action."

"Hence, why I hate the piece of junk," she could hear him whisper before his voice rose again. "Give your maneuvering in this mode a try, Ange. Then switch back and for the between the modes a few times."

The Major wasn't wrong; the simulator accurately mimicked the yank to the left that accompanied turning in place, as well as the yank right that accompanied a lateral thrust in that direction. The response was quite sensitive, as he also stated. Her attempts to transform back to Flight Mode seemed impossible until she tried what _should_ have occurred to her immediately: do the procedure that got her into Assault Mode in the first place.

The metal that covered her view of the simulated outside retracted, and she could finally see the full environment again. She added some thrust to the engines before transforming again, inertia telling her that her speed was dropping.

"Good," the Major said. "Note the loss in momentum. As you transform, you present yourself a vulnerable target. Still, the transformation itself opens possibilities: because of how swiftly you can turn in place while in Assault Mode, transforming briefly to correct your course before switching back to Flight Mode is a very inventive way to make tight turns."

 _Wh-what!?_

Ange just about let go of the controls and was on the verge of childishly banging on the console. _That_ was how she could have made it through the challenge course with less trouble, she realized.

"Eugene…I mean, Major. Why didn't you mention this earlier?"

"Angry about the course, are we? Of course. Well, pardon _me_ , Ange, for assuming you were intelligent and ambitious enough to experiment with the controls in the simulator – _technically_ , I gave you instructions on what to do in the simulator. What I _didn't_ do was prohibit you from experimenting with the controls. But, then again, I had hoped you read the booklet I gave you," the Major said. "Do you _honestly_ expect me to hold your hand the entire time you're here in Arzenal, Ange? Improvise; that is one of the major principles of success on the field. In short: _think_."

 _Why me…?_

"That's wrapping up the basics of both modes, Ange. Transform back to Flight Mode and land in the hangar; we've got notes and a schedule to give you…"

* * *

 **Several Hours Later**

 **Commander's Office**

 **Jill**

She couldn't claim to be surprised by Eugene's presence in the office. It was a common practice of his to consistently give a progress report regarding the training of recruits under his direct tutelage. Of course, he had only one this time, and it was very well-detailed. But there was more here…

"What's _this_ one?" Jill asked, holding a single piece of paper – its contents read like a syllabus.

"A heads up on a training schedule I put together for the girl," Eugene said. "As I recall, you gave me a single week to do this, so I wanted to run it by you. To be honest about this, Jill, I believe it's a reasonable covering of all the bases. It's a general-purpose schedule, but I can only work with what you give me."

"Extend each day by two hours – drill it into that thick skull of hers some more," Jill said.

"The report is right there – you've seen what I've gotten done with in six…why are you so determined to put her on the field so early, anyway?"

She held up the jeweled ring. "She had this…"

Eugene was an intelligent man. They were comrades during Libertas, and they had flown together many times – _Berlioz_ and _Vilkiss_ sharing the battlefield together. He knew the ring's function. He knew the implication.

"You can't be serious…" Eugene trailed, noticing her lack of reaction to his words for around half a minute. "You _are_ serious. Please tell me you are _not_ putting her in _Vilkiss_ on her first sortie, at least."

As anxious as Jill was to get Ange to master _Vilkiss_ , she was perfectly aware of the lack of wisdom involved in putting Ange in right out of the gate, before she could fully demonstrate that she could survive and adapt against the real thing. That's what Eugene was worried about. The one-time hot-blooded pilot from Libertas had become a cautious man by nature – as far as Jill was concerned, his caution was simultaneously a blessing and a curse.

"She gets sent out in a Glaive on her first deployment…same as the other rookies. If she can't survive, she can't use _Vilkiss_ to its fullest, either. If she dies, it's just proof that she didn't belong on the field," Jill said. "But then, I doubt you'll have trouble getting to to come around – your history with pilots is impeccable, after all."

She gambled with the statement to get a reaction out of Eugene. She knew that, while cautious, he took great pride in the First Troop. There was a reason so many of its pilots remained alive for so long: _he_ trained them, and he had _led_ them in the years leading up to his injuries. And his record in keeping his pilots alive, while not perfect, is among the best. Lost pilots were usually the result of misfortune, not incompetence on the pilots' part.

"Indeed, it is," Eugene said, though his eyes said a more aggressive "damn straight".

"Now, you look like you have something regarding _personal_ matters," Jill said as she put her cigarette out in the ashtray next to her. "Well? I'm waiting…"

"I, uh…won't be in for you tonight – not until _very_ late," Eugene trailed, scratching the back of his head. "I have to get things ready for The Hike and sort out a few personal things before coming back…"

"All right, then…you're dismissed, but…make it up to me, someday. I want the fanciest dinner we can get on this rock. You understand…soldier?"

"Hm…" he chuckled. "Yes. We're copacetic, ma'am."

* * *

 **Zola Axberg**

 _Confirmed changes from canon at this time: while still largely a hedonistic flirt who nonetheless cares for her subordinates, she shows a more calm and introspective side in this fic (as far as can be determined, given that I haven't written from her perspective). She appears, at first glance, to harbor a form of jealousy towards Eugene over the amount of respect he gets from the First Troop. But is that the **whole** story?_


	6. Chapter 6: One Day, You'll Finish Badly

**A/N: First, let me just say that this is more or less a transition chapter to go along between the other developments. At present, this chapter is essentially in Beta reading, and not in what I feel to be ideal condition, so expect some changes to the chapter if I get a lot of feedback. The nice thing about characters without very strongly established personalities is that you can add your own flavor to them. Without further ado, let's get into it.**

 **EDIT (5/22/2018): Fixed a few goofs.**

* * *

 **14 Years Ago**

 **Remote Island**

Sundown had long passed when his nephew fell asleep and his sister-in-law had arrived back home after a day of flying, looking for others to rally with them. Emil had sat with Tusk all day, worried for Vanessa's safety; every day she went out was another day in which Tusk could lose his mother. How terrible it must have been, he thought, to have to fight Mana society's battles against DRAGONs for them. He hadn't fought on the field against them, himself, but he _has_ witnessed several such battles, and all the death that comes with them.

And yet, Vanessa endured: a strong statement about her strength and character. It's something Emil would not have been up to, had he been in her position.

When István and Vanessa married, Emil couldn't stop expressing his happiness for his older brother, even in his worry. But seeing his nephew's face made him worry about whether they'd truly bring the world as it was established today down and, if they did, whether he had a future there…with anyone.

He supposed that he had a romantic side to go along with his altruism.

The two hugged briefly before he let her go to check on Tusk.

"How was he while I was gone, Emil?"

"Slept like a baby, Vanessa," Emil said with a grin. "He _really_ takes after you."

He set foot on Arzenal once or twice whenever the human attaché was too busy to notice him coming in and quickly got familiar with things – it wasn't particularly well-known that Vanessa was _not_ the most diligent of people when left to her own devices, though she _was_ quite smart. Literally, the only _guaranteed_ way to get her moving until recent years had been to sound the alarm that a Singularity had opened – at which point she became deadly.

That was, of course, until she met and eventually married István. Now, she was one of the most proactive people you'd ever meet. Emil saw the semi-playful, semi-serious slap on his cheek coming. And he simply took it like a man.

"Joking around like always, I see," Vanessa said.

"It's almost like my callsign is 'Joker' or something…" Emil chuckled.

"You know…There's being a _joker_ , and then there's being _reckless_ , Emil Ferenczy," Vanessa chided, a slight frown working its way into her expression. "Your idea of 'joking' perplexes...even _me_. Who 'buzzes the tower' with their Glaive?"

"I do, clearly…Come on, nobody came out of that hurt – except _maybe_ the human's ego. Totally worth it."

Friendly jokes from Emil's end were nothing new: simple jokes, horrendous puns, pranks. It's just that some things he saw as legitimate pranks were…well, they were frowned upon. Doing a flyby on Arzenal's command center with mere meters to spare was fun, and he _definitely_ loved seeing the looks of fright and even intrigue from those on the other side of the glass, but…well, it wasn't to everyone's taste. Nor was that prank anything one would consider "safe".

Vanessa snickered a little. "Palmer's reaction _was_ funny, I _will_ admit...but that's not the point, Emil."

"Commander Jasmine was not amused, you know," Vanessa said, finger pointed right in Emil's face like someone lecturing a student.

"Is she ever?" Emil chuckled.

"First, you nearly crash into a cliff face on your first flight, then you fly low-altitude along the beach during a Festa while the resident human of Arzenal is away, and _then_ you buzz a tower," Vanessa scolded. "Do you _enjoy_ endangering yourself?"

Emil thought carefully on how he would phrase his response – he decided to answer a question with a question.

"Don't _you_ endanger yourself every day? Doesn't István?"

"It's not the same thing, Emil. Grow up; you're seventeen years old. You should know this already: I am _required_ by human society to risk my life for their safety – you _aren't_. Until István and the others can put together a plan, that's how it has to be," Vanessa stated, followed by a tight hug. "And if neither István nor I come back alive, you've got to be there for Tusk."

"Vanessa…You're my family, too. More to the point: you're Tusk's mother. I'd rather risk _myself_ than deny you the opportunity to see Tusk truly grow up," Emil hugged back before stepping away. "I want to buck the system every bit as much as you do. And besides, how can we put together a plan if we don't know as much as we can about what we're dealing with? _Someone_ has to run reconnaissance – Stiletto is the fastest mover we've got. Might as well be me…"

"You _are_ going to talk to István about it, aren't you? Not that him saying 'no' will stop you, right? Because you feel it's the right thing to do."

"You know me too well. After all, we both have that in common," Emil paused at the drapes that shielded the inside of the small cabin from the elements. "For the record, Vanessa…yes. I do. Life in the fast lane has _always_ been perfect for me."

"Emil, for my sake, István's sake, Tusk's sake…hell, your whole _family's_ sake, you have to stop your risky behavior. Because, if you keep this up…" Vanessa said, her voice straining as sadness worked its way into her voice. When Emil looked back over his shoulder, he saw her eyes and cheeks exactly as he pictured: eyes full of tears that streaked down her face.

"If you keep this up, then someday…One day, you'll finish badly, Emil…"

"Vanessa…save your tears, because I _will_ come back," Emil promised. "After all, my heart tells me that's _also_ the right thing to do. Vanessa…take care of Tusk…spend some more time with István while I'm out. I'll be back in time for Tusk's next birthday, okay?"

 _I'll come back, Vanessa. When_ _ **haven't**_ _I come back?_

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Arzenal, Abandoned Barracks**

 **00:30**

" **Eugene Valentinus"**

" _One day, you'll finish badly, Emil…"_

Glass could be heard shattering. Eugene opened his eyes to the artificial light given off by one of the fixtures hanging from the ceiling. The slight taint of whiskey was on his breath – no hangover, and he was still sober, if a bit unfocused. Sometimes the dreams that hit were those like tonight's – relatively pleasant and calm yet saddening – while others were the sum of his worst experiences during Libertas and the years leading up to it.

 _István…Vanessa…I'm sorry…_

He shook his head to clear out the dizziness that accompanied the transition from deep sleep into the waking world. He pushed himself up from the table he leaned against, noticing the drinking glass that was knocked over and shattered against the bone-colored tile floor. The large whiskey bottle on the wall shelf nearby was empty – the last one in his inventory had been finished off. According to the receipt he kept in the file cabinets in here, his last purchase of such a bottle was three months ago.

"Ugh…" he grunted. "A toast to the anniversary of my first in a long line of screw-ups."

Something almost no one in Arzenal knew – even Jill – was that gambling hadn't been Eugene's only vice. Drinking was next down the line. His reputation, his appearance, the stress involved with such a high rank, the disappointment of no longer flying, and the loss of many under his command…And then the memories…the damn memories…

Eugene was not immune to all of this, however straight-laced or confident he presented himself. To see the difference of his personal life on his own versus his personal life with Jill or his professional life would _be…jarring,_ to say the least. Everyone was eaten away at, eventually.

He was a mess – his dress uniform was wrinkled as all-hell, covered in dust, and even had some whiskey spilled on it (thankfully, that didn't show against the deep navy blue).

Some people hit the simulators as an outlet…others ate a lot…others hit the gym a lot…he drank a lot. And still _others_ probably thought of sex a lot.

 _Sex for solace…_

To use her as a form of relief like that…

 _No, Gene. You're better than that, sober or not. And besides…you're no alcoholic…it's just one of_ _ **those**_ _nights…_

Things got even more complicated now that Ange was in the picture, and the potential that she might be able to pilot _Vilkiss_. He should be feeling renewed hope, but it was amazing how often hope and fear coincided. This hope was a fragile one – she was just a kid with no experience, after all.

Her world was turned upside-down when she was found to be a Norma, and she didn't know how to deal with it. If she didn't learn to do so, she would perish out there like so many others, and then his hopes would be shattered once more. Then it was back to simply surviving and making sure those under him survived – square one.

But then…that was only _if_ he screwed up this time. No…his instincts told him this would be different. There was a reason most of the First Troop had a high survival rate by Mail-rider standards, after all.

" _One day, you'll finish badly, Emil."_

No. That wasn't him. Not anymore – Emil Ferenczy died with Libertas…with his brother. He'd _already_ finished badly. It was Eugene Valentinus these days – and he had a job to do. _He_ hadn't finished badly _yet_.

 _Get it together for another day, Gene…you're a professional. Act like one, dammit – one day, this life will be behind you._

On a more _positive_ note, he was going to do things alongside his student. That meant wearing something more practical, and it also meant he was going to share the simulator with her. It would be a true one-on-one master-apprentice scenario; something he's not done since he'd first taken Zola under his wing.

If there was even the slightest chance that Ange could…

 _Well…Like the expression goes: nothing ventured…nothing gained…_

Let's do this.

* * *

 **Same time**

 **Zola's Quarters, Dormitories**

 **Zola**

Zola yawned even two hours after playtime had ended – Hilda, Rosalie, and Chris had been extremely energetic with their turns. They really must have been getting good sleep. They'd need all that sleep for playtime again…or for the next fight on the field. Rest was good, either way.

Though, rest was hard for Zola to get – the princess was lovely, untouched, and very tempting…but she respected Eugene to Hell and back. Respected…and perhaps envied. Zola saw it in his eyes: a level of determination and focus that matched his face and the tone of his voice on the battlefield. His voice never wavered in the field, remained cold as ice in the heat of the fight…

Tension, stress…he was hardly new to such things. And yet, yesterday, he felt a bit _off_.

All that tension, and the smell of liquor on his breath. Whatever it was that was on Eugene's mind, Zola wanted to know. She wanted him to relax, to come clean with her. But…

Sexy Eugene was devoted to making a soldier out of that princess…devoted to making sure that what happened to Rita never happened to Ange…but Zola was afraid that devotion would come at the expense of herself…of the First Troop; they were all like daughters that he never had. The pilots of the First Troop were _his_ girls.

Not once in the years Zola knew him had she ever seen Eugene _that_ consumed by a task.

Zola cracked her eyes open and moved the window curtain out of the way – usually, the only lights on at this time of the night were the night-lights within the command center. She'd never before noticed the dim lights at the abandoned barracks being on. Had that always been the case?

It _could_ have been Gene – the Hike was a common part of his curriculum. So…it really shouldn't bother her…right?

 _No…Jill would_ _ **never**_ _have sex with Gene in_ _ **that**_ _old place…She has more…_ _ **class**_ _…Have those two even_ _ **done**_ _it, yet?_

Nah, it shouldn't bother her. And what Gene did with the commander was hardly her business. But, oh…Zola wanted to feel a man's touch again. _His_ touch…

And, more than anything, she wanted his heart to be an open book to her.

* * *

 **05:30**

 **The Hike Trail**

 **Ange**

Her legs already felt like jelly, adding further pain to the physical exercise from yesterday…

She hadn't even cleared the first slope when she started to feel the effects. It was the Major's alternation between roundabout reassurance and biting sarcasm at her expense that kept her moving…not to mention the looks of the man himself.

He had woken her up with one of his many alarm clocks _right next to her ear_. She had hit her head hard, and then her vision had cleared. It was the first time she had seen the Major out of the dress uniform that made him look portly and, to be honest, he was not at all difficult on the eyes.

Muscled, yet he wasn't a mountain of them: you'd never mistake him for a competitive lifter (an uncommon sight in the world of Mana, since Mana made physical lifting unnecessary –closed circles supposedly exist) or a bodybuilder, since his musculature was very much streamlined and natural – but even so, it was obvious you'd never want to provoke him. He was strong and tough, but he was also nimble.

He had come in with a snug gray tee, and snug-fit cargo pants, tucked neatly into a set of combat boots. And just to fit the "tough guy" appearance, there were the fingerless gloves.

If the scars were any indication…her life was going to get even _tougher_ outside of his tutelage. There was also some type of burn scar on his right arm that hadn't completely healed – like faint foreign-language characters.

"Eyes on the terrain, Ange. No daydreaming about _this_ old man," the Major's voice said, snapping her out of her recent memories just in time to keep her from tripping over a rather large stone.

Major Valentinus…old? He could hardly be any older than thirty.

"Already feel your lungs burning? Good – _every_ rookie I've ever trained feels that sting on their first week of climbing. It means the Hike is getting _results_. If you do this enough, you'll end up like me: doing this without issue," he added. The Major wasn't even out of breath, nor did the climbing seem to strain him at all. "Then, you've got a head-start on any fellow rookie when Zola has you do the Wall and doing the full Climb."

"Are they…that much…harder?" Angelise asked, her panting periodically interrupting her sentences.

"The Wall? You're going fully vertical on a mock-up cliff face – what are you expecting? A massage? And the Climb? You've got to use more muscle, but the raw distance you have to travel is shorter," the Major said. "The Hike helps your leg muscles _and_ your stamina for long hauls – it's all about the endurance."

Far off to the right, after clearing the third switchback, Angelise saw a nice-looking two-story house. More like a small noble's mansion, really. Other humans outside of the Inspector General lived here?

"Major…what's…with that home over there?"

"That, Ange, is an estate for the Rosenblums. The Kingdom of Rosenblum holds jurisdiction over Arzenal. The royal family passes through at least once a year for inspection," the Major said.

"I've met some of them…Misty…she was one of the members of the Iaria team from the Floria Academy," Angelise said. "We played…against each other, before…well…"

"You mean the princess? Met her a few times, myself…nice girl, not once insulted the Norma. Quite unusual among humans. You two might be able to do some catching up if she takes another visit here. She might be shocked to see you here, but I doubt she'd push you away," the Major said. "A bit naïve, though – makes me worry."

The Major cleared his throat. "Enough with the conversation, unless you plan to deprive your body of air and collapse on the trail…and the ground here is _lumpy_ , too. This _isn't_ the type of bed you want to sleep on. Princesses _love_ nice, soft beds – not the hard ground like the strong girls do. Too undignified for you~."

Undignified? Of course. To fall asleep on the trail didn't sound appealing. A soft down-pillow and mattress sounded nice. No "lumps" to be found…not like the spring-loaded bed in her room…and not like…this rocky trail…and yet, even the nice beds get as lumpy as this.

Angelise found herself snickering when she shouldn't at the image. Whatever the Major's sense of humor involved was probably rubbing off on her…or maybe it was his delivery. No… _definitely_ his delivery…

"Ohohoh. Love some light verbal abuse, huh?" the Major teased. "Laugh when we reach the top – no risk of going Humpty-Dumpty up there. I doubt even _I_ could put you back together again."

She knew the nursery rhyme by heart – who didn't? _Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall…Humpty Dumpty had a big fall…_

The Major referenced a nursery rhyme mid-training. It was _so_ out-of-place that it was inexplicably hilarious.

What followed was one of the few times Angelise laughed since arriving on this island. Hard. And the consequence that hit wasn't a reprimand – she lost focus and, with it, balance. She probably would have fallen off the side, had the Major's firm hand not grabbed her in time.

"Ange. Ange! I've got you," the Major said, lifting her back onto solid ground with little effort. "Okay, okay. Good. Not a scratch… _That_ is why you've got to hold your laughter – if I hadn't been here, that fall would have been a fatal drop. Just as I'd expected: you get sidetracked if you find something amusing. Consider this a lesson: _keep your focus and don't get comfortable until out of danger_."

He…he prodded her into laughing. And it would have cost Angelise her life.

"You…" Angelise trailed. "You…gambled my life to teach me that? You…Major…why?"

"Ange…I've got to keep teaching you: if you can't remain attentive, you have no chance of surviving on the field, let alone keeping those you'll fight alongside safe," the Major said. "Have you ever gotten so distracted that someone got hurt on your watch?"

Her trainer had touched a nerve. Angelise immediately thought of the day Sylvia fell off the horse. They were so caught up in their joy, their sisterly affection, that Angelise failed to catch her during her fall – she barely noticed until Sylvia was already in the air. That was the injury that rendered her unable to walk.

"Y-yes…Major, my sister and—" she started, before the Major shushed her with a finger on the lips.

"It's nothing _I_ need to know, Ange. Not at this time, not on the clock… _later_ ," he said firmly. "Now, come on…we've dallied too long here. Let's get to the top and take a quick break."

Why did the Major have to be so unpredictable? Angelise couldn't make up her mind on whether to resent him for his gamble or not. Regardless, the rest of the Hike continued without incident, and the Major _did_ make good on his claims of a break – even threw in some extra water and a quick snack.

The five-minute hush was deafening, but they eventually started the descent.

By the time they reached the shooting range an hour later, Angelise was getting apprehensive…she remembered the sight…

 _M-mother…_

 **Eugene**

All told, it was probably to be expected. Getting Ange to even hold a gun without shaking, let alone firing it was proving problematic. Eugene already read the report: her mother had been gunned down right in front of her. You can't expect _anyone_ to come out of that unscarred – observer, killer, _or_ victim.

 _Yet_ _ **another**_ _reason I think Jill is rushing all of this…misery builds character, I suppose. Happened to me, after all. But it's not one-size-fits-all, dammit…_

"Ange, breathe. Unload the rifle, clear the chamber, set it down…take a break and get the shakes out. Have a seat," he said softly, comforting grip on her shoulders easing her on a chair. His firm approach should _not_ be used against a person in such a fragile state of mind.

 _Hell, I've seen_ _ **that**_ _kind of movie…I've even seen it happen for real…good way to get shot and a bad way to die…_

"Ange… I know. I've read the report. I know what you saw. I can imagine _vividly_ what you must have felt then, and what you must be feeling now," Eugene said softly.

"If you…then you know…I don't belong…I can't do this…" Ange trailed between sniffles.

"Ange, here – this should help," Eugene sighed, offering an open bottle of water to her, which she gladly accepted. "Look, you're hardly the first person I've known who's had their parent gunned down in front of them in their bid at defending their child. I once knew a boy who went through something similar…he was even younger you are – no older than nine, and he told it to me in perfect detail. Do you wish to hear the tale?"

Ange looked at him with a tentative look, and gave a very careful and understanding nod, along with a look that said, "spare no detail".

"Very well: the tale went like this…"

* * *

 **Additional Information: Eugene Valentinus**

 **Real Name:** _Emil Ferenczy_

 _Brother of István and brother-in-law of Vanessa, making him Tusk's uncle. Once upon a time, Emil was a hot-blooded goofball with a penchant for sarcasm and cracking jokes even in bad circumstances. Even so, he placed great value on his family, and loved the deeply. Clearly, something terrible happened - so terrible, in fact, that he appears to have distanced himself from the past symbolically by taking on a new name. Goodbye, Emil Ferenczy. Hello, Eugene Valentinus._

* * *

 **A/N: As always, leave a review, tell me what you think. I value feedback, and it lets me know that people are interested.**

 ** **By the way, I know a time skip is implied in the actual anime, but I still find it BS that Ange picked most, if not all of the stuff up with little effort - especially weapons training. I'm supposed to believe she has _no_ psychological scarring from watching her mother get gunned down? Highly doubtful. Different people react differently, but she's been sheltered her whole life - I'd like to believe that I pulled this off in a reasonable fashion.  
****

 **And yes. There _is_ a _Full Metal Jacket_ reference in this chapter to go along with the _Top Gun_ reference.**

 **Addendum to the edit: no, the tale does not relate to Tusk.**


	7. Chapter 7: Live by your Emotions

**A/N: Right, so after a long time, I'm back. Sorry for the delay. I've had my very first major hurdle with Writer's Block for the tale, in addition to studying for the certification exam. I initially wasn't going to write a flashback, but then I committed to it, figuring that, if I go back I'll have to push back the publish date even further. All things considered, I think it came out okay, though the on-and-off writing may have had a negative impact on the narrative flow.  
**

 **Just to clarify, the flashback is NOT 1:1 what Eugene is telling Ange.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

 **22 Years Ago**

 **Capital City of the Rasalhague Republic**

 **Emil**

Mana society…

This was the society that resulted when humanity had reached the end of its evolution. Mana was an advanced phenomenon of the will that generated heat, light, energy, and created a method of communication far beyond what mere machinery could accomplish. It could be safely called "magic". _In theory_ , people lacked nothing and had no problems: there was no war, discrimination, inequality, or poverty – it was a perfect utopia.

In practice, this claim was sugar-coating the problems, at best. At worst, the establishment was still rotten as to the core as it's ever been. There were those who were left behind from the days before this system was put into place. People who had no access to Mana and were shunned – if not harmed outright – for this fact.

Discrimination…Inequality…Hate…all of which contributed to war…

The things that supposedly no longer existed in this world were displayed towards them. In short: many of the things humanity _didn't_ need were still present. At least, that's what he was taught.

It was ten O'clock at night at the outskirts of the city in the heavy rain within a small alleyway. The city streets were usually safe, but the occasional officer got suspicious at night – these were tense times, after all. There could always be an Outcast or Rebel hiding among the populace – and in a way, they were harder to pinpoint than Norma, since they couldn't dispel Mana on contact.

Ancient Folk…like the boy curled by a trash bin.

Emil looked down at the watch. Big brother and Mother were somewhere well to the northeast of here – he didn't know how far. Father parked right outside of the city – it was a pre-Mana motorcycle with a very powerful engine.

Emil didn't follow Father very far – but he saw him carrying a gun…a long one. He carried it on his back…it also had something on it. What was it called?

 _It's on the tip of my tongue…oh, oh! A scope!_

It was used for…what was it called…?

Well, anyways, Father was here looking for a bad man who was the reason for their problems. He could be anywhere, but they'd heard he was in this city. So, they had come to take care of him – Emil _knew_ what was meant by "take care", but he had never _seen_ someone being taken care of…

"Wanna see if I can make it into the bin from here?" a deep male voice from down the alleyway interrupted his thoughts.

Suddenly, a crumpled empty can of soda had landed several feet in front of him with a loud _clatter_ , having clearly been flung using the Light of Mana.

"Haha! You missed!" another voice, this one higher, laughed.

Emil huddled further behind the bin, hoping that they wouldn't come to look behind it, hoping that they wouldn't hear the pattering of the rain against his leather flight jacket.

 _Pitter-patter, pitter-patter…_

 _Please don't come near me…Don't look behind here…_

"Let me try again," the original voice said, the Light of Mana engulfing the can once more, carrying it away. Still, Emil held his breath – despite how a simple exhale could be drowned out by rain hitting pavement, he did not want to chance it.

The next throw hit right into the open and hollow bin, making Emil's ears ring.

"Yeah! Got it!"

"Oi! You two!" Emil barely heard through the downpour. "What are you doing?"

"Err…sorry, officer," the high voice said. "My friend and I attend the Oph University in the southwest district – the one with the late club meetings. Art and music and the like – we were heading back to family."

"I see…" the new voice said, likely the officer. "Have you seen anyone suspicious on your way here? There have been several Norma found in this area over the last few weeks – there might even be worse out here."

"What could possibly be _worse_ than Norma?"

"You must not be aware of…err, forget it," the officer said. "You should run along now. It's late."

Emil could vaguely make out two sets of steps splashing through puddles away from him…

 _Thank goodness…_

Except there was a set _approaching_ him. It was at this point that he struggled to contain his panic. Rays of light were approaching, clearly emitted by Mana. The officer was coming – Emil had no convincing excuse as to why he was here. He didn't know by what methods or how long it would take, but the fact that he was one of the Ancient Folk _would_ be found out eventually.

He could be arrested, and where would they take him? Would they simply kill him in the street or stage an execution? This could only end one way: The World of Mana was cruel to them.

When the light shone on him, he knew the sound of the rain against his jacket gave his place away…

" _So…how does this relate, Major?" Ange asked. "This boy…a human unable to use Mana, like you. Why does this tie in?"_

" _As the saying goes: God is in the details, Ange," Eugene said. "Context is everything. The little boy was found, suspected – accurately, I must add – of being unable to use Mana. Obviously, in society's eyes, this would make him an abomination. As the officer made the move to confirm his suspicions, he was shot dead by the father, himself wounded and on the run after his job was botched. There were three – maybe four – more pursuers after, dying one after the other as the chase dragged on. Father and son had nearly made it to the vehicle when the first major milestone in the boy's life occurred…"_

Emil was hastily pulled up by his father up after slipping and falling into another muddy puddle. There was no time to complain about the roughness – they were still being chased and shot at through South Quarter: one of the capital city's most sparsely populated residential districts.

So close…they were so close to making their escape. The pair of them made the last sharp turn through the last alleyway. Father had turned around and made a snapshot on the officer, catching him dead-center in the chest with his pistol, staggering the man off his feet. They kept running; no time or need to confirm the kill, as long as they got away.

Father slung his body over the motorcycle that the had hidden behind the brush and trees – the sound of the engine turning over was one of the most comforting things to Emil right now. Father didn't need to say a single word to get Emil to sit into the sidecar.

"Hold on tight! I'm pinning the throttle!"

" _Of course, the ride didn't last long before a patrol car forced them to swerve out of control and crash. They survived, but…"_

Something warm ran into his Emil's eye to go along with the cold rainwater dripping on his face. He brought his hand to wipe it off and opened his eyes – the liquid looked blackish in the moonlight, but he could see a slight reddish hue. Blood…Emil's blood from a deep cut on his brow. He groaned as he struggled to sit upright – wherever he was, he landed on what felt like moss.

He couldn't see his father. The sidecar had detached during the wipeout, so they must have flown in different directions…

What _did_ see was father's 9x18mm pistol. It was the one with the nickel-engraved slide and their colony's insignia etched into the rosewood grips – his favorite honorary pistol that never left his side. Emil might not have been the most mature-minded of individuals, but he _did_ know the implications of finding it separated from its owner.

And he really did _not_ want to believe the implication.

On a shaky leg, fighting the dizziness, the double-vision, the ringing in his ears, and the urge to vomit that accompanied the pounding in his head, Emil hobbled over to pick the pistol up. Despite Emil's young age and small hand size compared to father's, it was surprising just how comfortably the gun fit in his hands – the gunsmiths back at the colony could not have done a better job with the customized contours on the grip.

The pain from his left leg was unbearable, and it failed to support his weight, so much so that he had to use a fallen branch to move. There must have been a break or fracture somewhere along there – maybe a dislocation. It was _that_ painful. Hard to say; it was too painful, and the situation too chaotic, to think about.

Whatever the case, the terrain made remaining upright difficult, but soon, Emil saw the glow of what looked like a fire not far off…like a gas tank had gone up in flames while Emil had been knocked out.

 _Oh no…father! Please be alive! You_ _ **have**_ _to be,_ he managed to think frantically through the pain as he pushed through with the branch, more determined than before.

Unfortunately, he had taken a false step when he reached the area where the glow was, the pain in his leg exploding even more as he tumbled forward with a scream. Everything that Emil felt before had returned full-force with the abrupt stop at the bottom of the small ditch, and his head pounded even harder when the light from the fire hit his eyes (Emil believed the adults would call what he had experienced a "concussion").

"Mnuuuuhgh…" he moaned, trying to resist the urge to vomit.

He blacked out again – he wasn't sure for how long – before stirring and coming to the realization that he was leaning against the inside of a tree. He grunted as sharp pressure was applied against his hurting leg.

"Quiet, my son…" a familiar voice said. "Your leg's broke; I'm splinting it."

"Father…is that…? You're alive!" Emil whispered softly. "When I found…I was afraid that…"

"Shh…we can talk later, my boy. There were two officers out there; I took care of one," his father said, and Emil clearly saw that he had swiped the officer's weapon. Father must have lost his own rifle in the crash. Wherever they were, they must have been well-concealed by the brush around them.

"Mother… István…are they close?"

"We need to call them – the radio equipment was in your sidecar…Emil…in here, you're hidden as long as you keep still. Stay here, I'll call for help and come pick you up…"

"Father, father, no…I just found you again. Don't leave…" Emil leaned forward, trying to embrace his father only to wince as the splint on his leg made moving any further without issue impossible."

"Shh…don't worry, Emil," his father moved to embrace him instead. "I came and found _you_ , remember? And I'll come back again. Any trouble comes…any at all, I'll come running. I always have – as long as I breathe, I always will. Stay here and keep still…no one will think to look for anyone here."

Emil lost track of the amount of time he was concealed by the brush, as he was getting shut-eyes…as much as he could with the throbbing pain in his leg. To be blunt, he'd be better off not even trying. He then heard something small snap…like a stick or a twig. Then another…and then several more crunching under the weight of a heavy boot.

Emil had at first that it was his father approaching, except that he had already seen when way his father's route had taken him, and this sound was coming from the opposite direction. Then, through his hiding place in the brush, Emil's suspicions were confirmed when he saw an armed man with a Mana screen come into view.

Though he should feel somewhat relieved in the fact that the man had his back to him and was unaware of his presence, tension still ran high in Emil's mind. The man was too close to his hiding place, however well-concealed he was. The slightest movement could cause a grunt of pain which could give him away.

But then, there was always the pistol in his hands that Emil could use. In fact, he could fire _right now_ and get rid of the danger and no one would be the wiser for it…but the very idea of having to use it scared him.

He had never fired at anything other than paper targets and tin cans back at the colony – learning to shoot was something almost everyone did growing up back home. The world outside of it would be unforgiving to them, after all. But Emil had personally seen what a bullet could do to a living body – even if it was from an animal and not a human – and had seen the types of things that could emerge from an exit wound: bone, brain, blood...it sickened him to think about it. It sickened him to recall those images, and it wasn't hard to imagine all that coming from a human. To have the ability to do that right here in his hands…on a living, breathing being…

Maybe…just maybe…he wouldn't have to…

Abruptly, the light from the officer's Mana screen moved when he brought his rifle to the ready, clearly seeing something as he took a few steps forward. "FREEZE!"

And Emil knew who he was aiming at because the person matched up with the prominent picture on the Mana screen…

 _Father!_

The police within the city were working with the patrols outside of it: it was the only explanation that made sense. And father was taken off guard; he had no choice but to surrender. And it was clear there was no intention to take him in alive. – unless Emil stepped in and stopped the officer. Fear gripped him, however.

But the officer was armed with a rifle, and Emil was armed with a pistol – there was a world of difference of the type of harm that could inflict. The officer had full use of both legs, but Emil had one held in a splint; if his shot missed, the man was going to run circles around him. He had range-training only – kids his age hadn't touched on what adults called "tactics". And bullets could be deflected by Mana-based shields…

 _What should I do, Father!? Please. Please – if this goes wrong -_

Emil had been so preoccupied counting the number of ways attempting to help Father could go wrong that he had only noticed the fully automatic weapons fire at the last second before it ended. And then, he saw the result: though the darkness of the forest hid the worst of wounds, the jerking and staggers spoke more than enough to tell Emil that father had been riddled. When he'd hit the ground, Emil's throat exploded.

"FATHER!"

His mind was consumed with a red haze, his arms shot forward, hands with a white-knuckle grip on the pistol. His mind didn't even register whatever it was his legs were doing – he felt neither pain, nor was he even sure that gravity was acting on his body. All he could do was squeeze his eyes shut and pull the trigger on the man responsible for gunning down his father.

Despite the slim build of Emil's arms, they took the recoil of each shot surprisingly well given the panic of the situation.

… _FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT, NI -_

… _click!_

The 9x18mm stopped firing, but Emil refused to acknowledge for several more seconds that he had expended the full magazine, trying in vain to budge the trigger. But the sign was right there: the slide was locked back.

 _Thump…_

The officer in front of him fell to his knees, having been clearly unarmored from behind, and turned his head weakly to see who had stumbled out to shoot him. What could only be described as shock was evident on his face.

"A…child…?"

 _Thud…_ the rest of him dropped, before he expired for good.

Emil had just…

He fell to his knees and wretched as he immediately realized that he had just ended a life. He had just _killed_ someone. Even if the reason was a good one, the very act was an ill one.

Emil had always been a gentle person by nature and had dreaded the day that would come that he could be forced to pull the trigger on another – had hoped that, at the least, it would not happen at such a tender young age.

But, alas, it seemed innocence was lost.

Pain once more shot through his leg. The splint must no longer have been held in place – that no longer mattered to Emil. Father was all that mattered. With as much strength as he could muster, Emil stood and hobbled to where he saw his father fall. He was alive and breathing…barely, and he was riddled all over with wounds that looked like they went all the way through.

They didn't look too bad. If Mother and István got here soon, he'd be fine. At least, that's what Emil wanted to believe. Intellectually, Emil was mature enough to know his father was doomed no matter what he did.

"Father? Father, please…you have to hold on…"

"Emil…Emil…I called…for help…they're coming," Father said.

"I…I should have fired sooner, dad," Emil said. "But I froze. I was too afraid. I thought too much…when I should have moved."

"You're…simply a child. Children act on emotion…there's nothing wrong with it. There's nothing wrong with _anyone_ acting on their emotions…especially…when…they tell them…to do…the right thing…" Father said. "Live by your emotions, Emil. It's the only good way to live…"

"I'm still sorry, Father! If I'd been quicker…please, don't go…don't… _DON'T…FATHER!_ "

* * *

 **Present Day**

 **Angelise**

"Since that day," the Major concluded, "young Emil vowed to strengthen his resolve so that he'd never lose anyone close to his heart again. And he succeeded – when attempts were made in far later years on his brother's life and, later, his sister and unborn nephew's lives, he thwarted them. He resolved that he would only fail if he died…"

Angelise was recapping the story: a young boy, in the Rasalhague Republic's capital city for unknown reason with his father, suddenly on the run, with an escape gone wrong, suddenly forced to kill when his own father was fatally wounded. The entire story had the exiled princess on the verge of tears by its conclusion.

"His circumstances didn't align with yours, though. I realize that: he had the means to save his father, he simply froze in fear. You had no means to save anyone – and even if you had, it would have been for nothing, surrounded by so many people," the Major said. "The point I'm trying to make, however, is this: at some point, there _must_ be a moment where you'll need to swallow that paralyzing fear – in your case, the fear of holding the very type of weapon used to murder your mother – and focus on learning to defend yourself and any you may come to hold dear here. Whether you form a connection with your fellow Norma here or not, they will still be your sisters in arms – you will protect each other, and that means learning this."

"I don't know how quickly I can do that, Major," Angelise said."

"It'll happen, Ange," the Major said. "I won't force you to shoot anymore today if you're not up for it, but you're going to have to do so eventually, Ange. I'd much prefer it sooner than later, and ideally under my tutelage. I've done extensive study into your incident, so I'll be most understanding on the range. If we're done here, grab some breakfast in the cafeteria then meet me in the gym at quarter to nine."

"Breakfast sounds good…Major…may I ask a personal question?"

"Depends…what's the question?"

"You sounded so…invested in the story. Did you know the boy?"

"…Yes…I knew Emil…and his father, and the brother…the whole family…Most of them have died since," he said swiftly, as though getting it all out as quickly as possible was going to keep his own emotions from spiraling out of control. "I know Emil's nephew is still alive and kicking out there somewhere."

"Alone?"

"He's a resourceful young man about your age. My faith in his ability to still be alive after so long is _absolute_ , Ange," the Major said. "But, now's not the time. If you want to explore this further, you can wait until the off-time. Eat up and get your mind on the training, Ange…I'll get the range squared away. You should know the way from here…or do you need me to hold your hand, again?"

"Er, no, Major. I know the way," Angelise defended.

"Good. Glad to see you're learning your way around – but get moving."

 **Later**

The breakfast and subsequent physical exercises gave the exiled princess plenty of time to come down from the shakes that came from remembering what she saw that day before she was taken away. And yet, something else worked its way into her mind in its stead. It wasn't as distracting as her own problems had been, to be fair, but still…

And now that there was a brief lull between the physicals and the simulators, she found her mind wandering again. The Major's story sure had a way of being thought-provoking.

The door opened, and she came to attention, having been in her flight gear, and was taken aback when he saw him in what he wore. His flight-suit offered full-body coverage with little in the way of revealed skin – closest being the V-neck of his collar and the fingerless gloves. Like her own flight, he had several parts that looked armored, presumably also containing sensors for use with any Para-mail, but they looked far lighter in composition.

Her flight suit was snug on her. The Major's looked loose-fit by comparison…Angelise found this contrast to be rather annoying. Sexism at its finest…of course, Angelise wised up and decided not to voice this displeasure.

"Ange, are you ready to do the good stuff?" the Major said, no small amount of excitement that he could not contain in his voice. Obviously, he was looking forward to flying, even if it was simulated.

"Yes, Major," she said.

"Good," he replied. "Double time it."

It turned out that eight other people occupied the simulator room when they arrived, and at the forefront was a purple-haired girl in pigtails who came to attention and a salute the second the Major got close.

"Oh, Major Valentinus, sir! First Troop at the ready and training!"

"At ease, Salia," the Major said. "This is no inspection. In fact, I'm training one-on-one, myself. This is Ange; she's the newest transfer I was referring to yesterday. Ange, this is Salia – she's the second-in-command of the First Troop that you'll transfer to when you're taken out of my hands. If, for any reason, Captain Zola is unavailable, you listen to her."

Angelise simply stared and nodded, uncomfortable with the situation. If one would have put her in this situation a few days earlier, Angelise would have spat more than a few unfavorable Norma-related putdowns. But, as it stood, she was in a state of…uncertainty? She wouldn't call it denial. She certainly hadn't _accepted_ that she belonged here, yet.

"Princess is a quiet one, isn't she?" a pure cherry-haired girl in pigtail trailed. "What? Status make her too good to talk to the rest of us?"

"Let's not make a scene in the simulators," the Major said. "Not after the incident last month…"

Incident?

"Hey, Major – isn't the papa going to introduce the rest of us? I thought you were big on manners…" the pure orange-haired girl said.

At first, Angelise thought the Major was going to lose his temper with her, but he replied with a deadpan voice and a gesture to each girl. "Haven't I taught you _better_ than to interrupt, young lady? That's Rosalie, Ange…the resident Scrooge of the First Troop, then there's Chris running artillery, and Hilda…the third in chain of command and ringleader of the trio. They're always together off the field, you can't miss them…Three Stooges, _one_ of which is due for a special deduction from her next income report precisely _because_ of being cheeky…and as Arzenal's executive officer, I _do_ have that authority."

Rosalie developed a tick mark in response to that while Hilda snickered.

"Over on the other side you've got Ersha. You saw her in the cafeteria yesterday morning; she's the _other_ artillery specialist and resident team mom – if you need help settling into the team, talk to her. Next to her, there's Vivian – melee specialist and one of the youngest Aces in Arzenal."

"Quiz time!" Vivian started. "Who are the other rookies in the First Troop?"

"Miranda and Coco…I believe. Yes, now I remember," the Major said. "I've not seen you two often enough. Good to see you again after a few years."

"It's nice to see you again, Papa Gene," the girl he had referred to as Coco chirped. "I really, _really_ hope they let you fly again. And with us!"

Coco practically jumped up and down with every word towards the Major. The mixed atmosphere in this room felt unusual: the blend of formality and informality…how some referred to him by rank and others by nickname. And Rosalie's sarcasm? The Major was tolerating it all, even responding in kind, if seeming a bit uncomfortable about it.

"Major, why do you put up with such lack of respect?"

"A lack of respect is it?" the Major asked rhetorically. "Yes, as a former princess, I'd figure you'd have a keen sense for such a thing…Protocol would indeed point to such behavior as a blatant disregard for a superior's authority…I _should_ punish them accordingly… Ange, etiquette here, while still well-defined, as would be expected of a military installation, is not what you're used to back where you lived. I offer you a challenge: consider the people you shared orientation with, and then ask yourself why protocol can get so flexible. Got it?"

She nodded as she thought back to what he asked her the day they met, about what Norma and humans had in common. She felt like she was supposed to cram for a quiz between the tale he had told and what he had said just now.

"And, what's this about flying with you?"

"That's a tale for another ti – ."

"His piloting is the stuff of legends!" Coco exclaimed. "No one I've met in the classes hasn't wanted to fly at least once with him. They say he took down twenty _Brig_ -class DRAGONs by himself! Papa Gene says it was more like eight, but he's just being modest."

"Coco, that's _enough_ ," the Major said sharply as he swiftly pulled out his pocket watch to check the time before quickly stuffing away.

Wait…he carried it even in his _flight suit_?

"I've got a rookie to train. Salia, carry on."

Salia saluted, "Yes, sir!"

"Let's go, Ange…"

 **Salia**

"Seriously, though," she heard Coco chatter behind her as Salia watched Eugene lead the new transfer away, "the new girl is _very_ lucky to be getting personally trained by a living legend. I'd give _anything_ to be in her shoes."

Just about any girl in Arzenal would have. _Any_ girl; Salia wanted to believe she was mature enough to be an exception. But she wasn't – after all, it was something special to claim to be trained personally by the legendary Black Wolf of Arzenal.

Of course, when Salia first met the man as a little girl, he was neither the straight-laced gentleman he was today, nor was he a living legend (though he was still a great pilot). Fast forward to now, and a lot of the girls of Arzenal wanted him, age gap be damned. And he had all the appearances of a proper officer and the speech, to match.

He had a few star one-on-one students, with Zola being most prominent. True, much of the First Troop leading up to his removal from the field – which was about everyone apart from Coco and Miranda – could claim to be his daughters in spirit, but there was a certain prestige to being taken as a personal apprentice by him. It was something Salia had always wanted ever since Eugene had established himself as a legend among Arzenal's pilots…all these years of waiting for a chance to be taken in, and a rookie that arrived mere days ago is assigned just like that.

Intellectually, Salia was in on the reason; she saw the personnel file. She knew that it was cases like these that Eugene specialized in, being the most diplomatically-inclined person in Arzenal. She knew the necessity. But what her mind knew and what her heart felt were at odds with each other – each time he took a rookie for personal training, it hurt her heart.

 _It's just a week. It'll all be over soon._

She was looking forward to doing some spiritual cleansing later…

 **Eugene**

He'd rigged up a little something that would allow him some control of the simulator from within the pod and ran through the data settings. Mission 7, the standard. Craft select…

He chose the same for each of them: AW-CBR115 Glaive.

"Alright, Ange. Communications check. Can you hear me?" he spoke into his helmet's radio.

The sound went dead for around three seconds before he heard her affirmative "yes".

"Good. Welcome to advanced Para-mail piloting and the basics of Para-mail combat," he said. "In a normal launch, air traffic control will tell when it's safe to launch after the previous wave of craft has cleared the runway. I will take over for the purposes of this. When I give the go ahead after I launch, you will launch and group up on me in Echelon Right formation – that is, behind me and to my right. Is that a clear enough explanation?"

"I think I understand, Major…"

"Good. Just make sure to keep comfortable spacing between us – I don't want our Para-mails colliding with each other, and I doubt you do, either. This may not be the real deal, but you don't want to make flying too close a habit," Eugene said, dropping formality, albeit only marginally, in his speech. "Keep formations loose unless absolutely needed."

His heart rate picked up a bit, but not by much. The simulators could replicate quite a few things about Mail-Riding: handling, inertia…of course, the big limitations were also the things that made Eugene miss real flight: the simulators can't replicate the feeling of live air moving past you, or the feeling of gravity pulling you down when you hit the kill-switch on the thrusters.

It just didn't have the same effect.

"Unit Status: Gene ready…Launch!"

Nearly two decades of training for these types of changes in inertia made this simulated push backwards feel like a minor nudge as he blasted out of the simulated hangar, pulling back hard and rapidly gaining altitude once he had cleanly separated from the runway.

"Runway clear. Unit Ange…Launch!"

Looking over his own shoulder, he caught sight of Ange's own Glaive blasting out of the hangar and pulling up to altitude.

"Let's go. Form up: Right Echelon, immediately," Eugene ordered.

He had a few ideas on what to do if this went particularly well…

* * *

 **Places of Interest**

 **"The Colony"**

 _A small "colony", now vaporized with not even a brick standing, that acted as the final haven for the Ancient Folk, which had numbered less than a thousand residents, from which Emil and_ _István originated.  
_

* * *

 **A/N: Again, Apologies for the long delay. FYI, the handgun is a dead ringer for a real world Makarov pistol.  
**

 **As for voice actors for a few the introduced OCs, how about...?**

 **Eugene - Travis Willingham: Roy Mustang (Fullmetal Alchemist)**

 **Sage - Kelly Sheridan: Sango (Inuyasha)**


	8. Chapter 8: Dogfight Out of Nowhere

**A/N: Well, people, after such a long delay, I'm back. The delays are going to remain long, sadly. Everyone who knows me knows one thing: I know what I _want_ my end result to be, but rarely how to write my way there. Hence, the time it took me to write this.**

 **Also, pending dividing this into multiple stories, I thing I'm going to divide this into multiple Acts, instead. Either way should help with organization.**

 **See if you can spot the shout out in this chapter...**

* * *

 **Angelise**

"Reform on me, Left Echelon!" the Major ordered over the radio, for what felt like the hundredth time within the last fifteen minutes. They hadn't even done true maneuvers – merely formations.

Her Glaive regrouped with his, at a forty-five-degree angle behind him off his left wing. It was difficult to keep up with him through the tight turns and sharp pitches and somersaults, but easy to get back into formation once back in level flight.

"Good," the Major said. "You've drilled down the formations, so let's get right to the key parts of the simulator session: the advanced piloting and combat. Note that many of the flight mode maneuvers I'll be teaching you today, while highly effective tactics, are unlikely to _ever_ see live use since most Para-Mail combat takes place in Assault-Mode. These maneuvers come from a long list of air combat tactics that predate Para-Mail combat, and as such weren't _initially_ developed with them in mind. In any battlefield, free of restrictions, a skilled Mail-rider can counter almost _any_ one of these old-style fighter tactics."

"Why am I learning them if they don't pertain to it, Major?" Angelise asked, confused as to why he would teach something irrelevant to the current standard.

"You didn't let me finish, Ange. I said, 'a skilled Mail-rider'. What I _didn't_ say was 'any DRAGON' could counter these. How fortunate that they form the bulk of our opposition," the Major clarified. "Certain classifications are easier to evade using the old tactics than others. And I've put considerable time and effort into looking for ways to optimize these moves for Para-mail use – an innovative mind looks at proven methods of the past and refines them for present use. It never hurts to have such capabilities at your disposal should you need to go evasive and turn things around, wouldn't you agree? For the purposes of this exercise, we're both stuck in Flight Mode."

The Major's Glaive picked up speed as the engines roared to their maximum tolerances.

"Most Para-Mail are equipped with a nose mounted rifle or submachinegun, some models of which are mounted on a pivot point typically slaved to your visor while in Flight Mode," the Major stated. "You should be seeing a reticule on your visor now, and a small box indicating how far the gun can pivot. As you've likely figured out through the Big Skyscraper Slalom, most Para-Mail can pivot their engines to an extent in Flight Mode to not only speed up their rolling, but also to improve their cornering, which is also why they're more maneuverable in Assault Mode. Making the most of Para-Mail with turret-mounted nose weapons and high-performance thrust-vectoring are just two of many factors of dogfighting in Flight Mode, but by no means the most important. That's where this phase of the exercise comes in before you perform any major moves of your own: you get to observe _your own target_ – namely, _me_ – evade your fire, Ange. I'm unlocking your weapons – engage me when ready. Don't worry; I can handle a little stress."

 _Did…did I just hear him right?_ She thought to herself as the crosshair drifted around the Major's own dancing craft.

"You want me to _WHAT_!?"

"Is your radio cutting out, Ange? Shoot. At. Me. The whole idea is to get used to the targeting system and tracking dodging targets – and _good_ dodging targets. Simulated data drones only do so much," the Major explained. "Who better than a veteran? Don't worry if you land a hit; remember that this is a simulator. There's no risk of killing your trainer here."

There _was_ a hint of logic to this. Considering that he had referenced a _nursery rhyme_ in the middle of a hiking trail to goad her into laughing in order to make sure she could stay focused, Angelise really should have seen this coming. At least the Major was more up-front about this one.

The Major's Glaive started slowing down, coming _dangerously close_ to a collision course with Angelise.

"Of course, if you'd rather switch places, do the other half of the training, and be the one who's shot at _first_ , I can oblige…"

Her fright at the notion resulted in her pulling the trigger before her rational thought could intervene and, in short order, a simulated tracer round left the barrel of her Glaive's rifle and flew right for the Major's left thruster. The Major's movement was subtle, but there – the angle of the resulting hit of the bullet was _extremely_ shallow, ending in a ricochet. There was no penetration, but the kinetic energy was enough to force the Major's Glaive to slightly yaw off-course for the briefest of moments.

Angelise didn't capitalize on the moment, of course. And the Major used that opportunity to recover and brake again. Angelise instead dodged and flew right by without bothering to make any extra shots, as if the Major was part of an obstacle course.

"Is that ignoring the first order or taking me up on my offer? Either way, if it's a surprise dogfight you want, _you've got it_ ," the Major said darkly, the inflection in his last words sending a shiver up Angelise's spine.

She realized then and there that she _really_ should have just started shooting and not have said a word. And she knew for a fact that she was _not_ winning this dogfight.

To put it in commoner's words: "this was going to suck".

She looked behind her, but the Major had completely disappeared. That frightened her more than anything; it meant that he could come from _anywhere_. She doubted he disappeared towards the simulated sea below, or else she would have seen the outline make its descent – no, off to the side or into the overcast skies above her were the only sensible options. All the same, she saw nothing.

It was tense, and the Major knew it, because he didn't make a single offensive charge, nor did Angelise even see him, for at least the next five minutes. The clouds above her were low enough for her to fly into– it didn't require tactical genius to know that it was possible something could hide in them. Even someone as new as her had the good sense to be afraid of venturing up near them.

The clouds began to break as she rolled right, and shafts of sunlight began to peek through the cracks in them. But she caught the shadow that moved swiftly through the shaft of light behind her.

When the tracer whizzed past her, hell broke loose…

* * *

 **Zola**

 **Fran's Tech Room**

"You just about done examining that? My girls must be getting lonely without me…" Zola said as she held her hand up to her empty eye socket. "You always have a spare. Can't I just get that and go on my way?"

"Slow down, Zola, my pretty little wildflower. Can't have you running off before you fork over the repair cost," the bespectacled teal-haired young lady said. "You can't rush the _artwork_ behind a retinal prosthesis – _how_ you managed to mess up work of _my_ quality is beyond me."

"Maybe your quality control took a slip?"

"I beg your pardon? I take great pride in my work…"

Francine was Arzenal's resident computer nerd. Whereas Mei kept the Para-mail at peak condition, Francine generally made sure the radio and computer equipment in the command center and other places on Arzenal. She was also the go-to person for implant design, maintenance, and repair when you don't want to requisition a spare one from off-base…

…which was exactly why Zola had come here after her retinal prosthesis started acting up while she was in the simulator room. Intermittent nervous system desynchronizations…which was fancy talk for sudden picture inversion, inconsistent vision focus, and sudden blackouts – things that can get one killed if they show up in a combat situation. Gene's training and common sense both dictate that this was something to address at the earliest possible opportunity.

"What's this? Merging circuitry? Ugh…score one for southeastern Rasalhague Republic electronics factories… _real_ top-tier quality," Francine said with sarcasm. "They could _never_ keep their melting points high enough. It speaks more of them than of me. _Somehow_ , I think they believe we're expendable…oh, wait. Yeah, I can fix it. Going to need to get some things, though. That is, if you _want_ repairs done on it, yet. The highest quality stuff hasn't come in yet…and I doubt you're keen on ordering one premade from the mainland, especially with Jasmine's prices…"

"I don't suppose I can get a quote if I wanted the best stuff?"

"Not until it's in, no…"

"Okay…so, how much for the spare? Usual fee?" Zola asked.

"Indeed. Try not to get this one punched out, Zola. And don't get too rough in the bed. This one's using the same quality circuitry, so if my worries hold…well, I'm sure you get the picture," Francine said, as money changed hands and so did the spare eye.

For Zola, inserting her retinal prosthesis was about as easy as your average girl inserting a contact lens: just pop it in, blink a few times and go. Fran had a mirror in her tech room that allowed her to do just that before getting back to the girl.

"Got it. Thanks, Francine. You're a life-saver," Zola gave a thumbs-up.

"No problem," Fran said. "Oh, send Eugene my way sometime, will you? I'd like to give his implant a once-over, too. His rarely needs anything done, but you never know."

"You gave him even better quality than _me_ – his has not once broken down on him. You're just looking for an excuse to eat eye candy, aren't you?"

"Oh? How did you know?"

"Lucky guess. Good luck getting him in bed with you, though," Zola said with a wink.

"No delusions…" Fran sighed. "Long as you don't get delusions about having him the rest of your life."

"I know. But the one time was enough…the best night of my life. Catch you later, Francine," Zola said with a wave as she walked away to head back to the simulators, locking herself in thought.

She considered herself a mature woman, but Zola still felt a bit stung by the remark. She respected Eugene to high-Hell and back. Respected his decision, his feelings, his desires to be happy.

 _That last part is bullshit, and you know it. Poker night…in the same room with the money, remember? He wasn't happy about that…_

She had let him be since, though. He made it more than clear in his body language that he had eyes for no one other than Jill. Always her. For more than a decade. It was almost hilarious; everyone who knew him back in those days described it as "love at first sight". It was funny to imagine the professional Eugene as having _ever_ once been the love-at-first-sight type. And it was apparent that the sight had been set on Jill.

Part of Zola envied Jill for that – and yearned for Eugene in deeper than just body.

Zola supposed she was still the romantic girl taken from her parents at the turn of her adolescence at heart…the girl who had once been enamored with the fantasy stories of a princess being rescued by a knight in shining armor, stories of a lone warrior who could banish seemingly invincible monsters single-handedly upon lonely ramparts. On an island consisting of nothing but women save for one single man, it's easy for the one man to become that knight when he saves you from death, over and over…

 _Get a clue, Zola. He's not just_ _ **your**_ _knight. The rest of the girls', too._

Everybody's knight, indeed.

 _Stay focused, girl. Worry on taking care of your girls…just like_ _ **he**_ _took care of all of you._

But that _was_ her worry – and that's why she had always been content being his Number Two. Zola was _not_ blind to her faults, contrary to what some believed. Gene knew her faults, knew the faults of every one of his girls, and knew how to work around them – that's why they've stayed alive for so long.

This was why Zola backed every effort Eugene made to restore both his flight status and his status as Squadron Leader of the First Troop. For all the people he'd lost during his tenure as its leader, his record far surpassed her own.

Was Zola competent as leader of the First Troop? Sure. Did she like the benefits at times? Hell, yes!

But everything else…how did Gene cope with it all so well?

He was so much better at all of this. Why did it have to come to him being benched?

She shoved the thoughts aside when she arrived back to the simulator room.

Salia was running one of the simulator boxes when Zola had arrived. She caught her squadron commander out of the corner of her eye and spun around to salute her.

"Captain!"

Zola returned the salute. "Back to it – has everyone started?"

"Yes, ma'am. The rookies are running basic flight training again and everyone else is refining advanced combat tactics," Salia reported.

"Good," Zola said before noticing two active cabinets to her left with their simulator controls removed and stuffed into the frontmost pod. "Who are using those two?"

"Ma'am…the Major…decided to get involved directly with his rookie…"

 _That could be taken very_ _ **lewdly**_ _, Salia…I hope you realize that…hehehe…_

And it seemed Salia was perfectly aware of her own misstep, because she blushed in embarrassment. And she looked ready to berate herself for it.

"The immortal policy of showing one's students how to do things rather than just do nothing but words…this I _have_ to see," Zola said as she stepped over.

Eugene's decision to rig the controls to fit on the inside of his pod meant Zola couldn't adjust the conditions for either himself or his trainee. However, she _could_ still observe each pod's cameras to see what was happening.

She expected a regimented training session; she did _not_ expect a dogfight…

* * *

 **Eugene**

With finely trained movements of his head and tight turns, he kept Ange well within his Glaive's turret's range pivot box close to all times. That didn't change one thing: she was hopping around all over the place, like a hare trying to outrun a hound, which took her outside of his turret's range of movement a few times. It's was rather surprising, considering her status as a newer pilot.

More surprising was the fact that several of the maneuvers he had _planned_ on demonstrating, she was performing – whether by intuition or luck – in her bid to evade him, chief among them the classic Rolling Scissors dogfighting technique. Most surprising was that this managed to get Ange _behind_ Eugene and give her a clear shot on him, despite the identical performance of their crafts.

His left wing slipped coming out of the maneuver, forcing him to spiral down and regain airspeed to avoid any loss of control. Ange, in the meantime, had decided to do something unexpected and dive at him during this, yet seemed too apprehensive to do more than pull the trigger just once.

It went wide – _very_ wide, as if she hadn't bothered to aim.

Still, he needed to put distance between them, on the off-chance that she mustered more confidence to fire a more accurate shot.

He needed to end this. Time to use his signature…

 _Engines mid-power…roll left…DIVE!_

The sharp left roll accompanied a sharp nosedive, followed by a near-full-vertical flight with engines roaring at max power – and Ange drifted right through the jet wash, complete with all the turbulence it introduced.

With the aerodynamic drag on his Glaive lost, Eugene had hit the kill-switch on his engines and was in the process of jumping them and leveling his Para-mail out following a backflip as the simulated gravity had pulled him down.

And he was dead thankful that Ange was still struggling to regain control from the turbulence. Para-mail were not susceptible to compressor stalls like old-style turbine-based aircraft, but new Mail-riders still had some trouble controlling the yawing and rolling that came from going through the wake left behind by their thrusters, especially if you were still in the process of "riding" the wash rather than merely crossing it. By the time Ange _had_ regained control, Eugene had recovered from his stall and was closing right on top of her.

His rifle was set to fully automatic. She was dead to rights.

"Let's wrap this up…" he trailed in the split second before he pulled the trigger.

The resulting hail of fire had few – if any – stray shots, with so many perforating her Para-mail's engines. But the shots that truly counted were those that repeatedly hit the fuselage, and, in any real-life scenario, would come out the other end perforate the pilot herself at this range. All fifty rounds in the rifle had been spent.

Ange's Glaive started to fall before it exploded into a crimson inferno, simulated pieces blasting in all directions. One piece of a wing flew what would have been less than half a meter shy of Eugene's head – it would have sucked to be decapitated by a piece of debris so soon after scoring a kill.

Debris splashed into the simulated sea, and calm had settled into the skies.

"I have to hand it to you, Ange: that was some of the best flying I've _ever_ seen from a rookie…right up until the point where you got _killed_ ," Eugene radioed. "You have talent, Ange, and good intuition, but those alone won't save you in the long run. Experience and training are the best ways to refine both – something I was hoping you were going to learn from the very start. And it's something I hope you've learned from this. For that stunt, we're spending an extra half-hour in the simulator…"

"Half hour?"

"Yes. Besides, I thought you _liked_ flying," Eugene said. "I could always add more, but I'm feeling fair. I could, by all rights, put you through more _physical_ training as punishment for disobeying instructions, but I won't. Now, the simulator should have put you back in the hangar – get your engines started again and get your ass out here. _This_ time, follow my instructions."

He wasn't sure his transmission had gotten through, but then, he looked to his upper left to turn on the monitor he rigged on a simulator wall to see that, yes: Ange _was_ leaving the hangar and entering the area. Eugene wished she had settled for answering him on the communicator in the process, but still…

"Good – now, believe it or not, you did some of what I was going to teach you without knowing it, Ange. That's from dodging by instinct alone – can you do it again? Would you know what it was if I told you? Let's go over those, then we'll go over combat in Assault Mode – then we simulate it all against multiple targets," Eugene explained. "But before we do _any_ of that, we'll take this from the top: you'll shoot at me like you tried at that last stretch."

After the ass-kicking she had received, she was more receptive to the last sentence than when they started. And, gripes about hunger aside, the training went well. Combat in Para-Mail, simulated or live-fire, didn't shake a person up the way holding a gun did – well, not _as_ much. There was a level of depersonalization involved, so Eugene heard no complaints from Ange after the one time at the start of the simulation, which stemmed more from the thought of shooting at her trainer than anything else.

* * *

 **Angelise**

 **14:30**

Her stomach hurt as she stepped out of the deactivated simulator pod, and Angelise was eager to hit the cafeteria.

"Not a bad day, Ange," the Major said, as he stepped out of his own pod. "I must say: when you mentioned you played Iaria, it explained in part how you were able to pick up on the basics of Flight Mode, but you gone and surprised me more by picking up on aerial tactics almost immediately – like a bird taking to air on instinct. Not a lot of my trainees can claim to have done that so quickly…"

Angelise hid her face and blushed a bit. "Major, that's quite nice of you to say…"

"Don't get me wrong, Ange," the Major said. "It's not just praise I'm giving; it's a challenge. Getting off the ground is only half the challenge; you now have to _stay_ off the ground. What I've taught you about advanced Flight Mode techniques and combat today, along with Assault Mode combat, is only scratching the surface. You're doing well, but you're not elite, yet."

Angelise shifted around and shut the pod door behind her as her blush subsided, moving her hair so that it didn't get stuck in the pathway. She already her question was going to be a stupid one to ask.

"How long will it take before I am?"

"That," the Major chuckled, "depends entirely on _you_ , Ange. Training alone doesn't make you elite – not one week of it, not fourteen, not a full lifetime of it. I can teach you the skills, but I can't _make_ you elite. It's what you'll do out in the field with what you've learned, and how you deal with what circumstance has given you that determines whether you're considered 'elite'."

"So, what about you?"

"I've been at this for close to twenty years, Ange. Learning over time has been my guide to becoming the best," the Major said. "I got here by improvising, by adapting, by using intuition to use my Para-mail in ways that no one else thought to do…in short, I got to where I am by being clever."

"…you should have also added 'stubborn' and 'ambitious'," a newer voice spoke. "So, _you're_ going to be the newest rookie. Why…turn around, and let's see that face of yours."

Angelise turned to see the source: a tall woman with green eyes who, like her, had long blond hair. Immediately, Angelise was hit with extreme discomfort – perhaps it was because of the way the woman carried herself, the almost siren-like quality to her voice, the tattoos that drew attention to the wrong spots.

"Captain…" the Major greeted, before making the introduction. "Ange, this is Zola, she is the commanding officer of the First Troop that you'll be transferring to once your time under me is done. "She's also a tremendous mail-rider and boasts a strong leadership rating – among the best in Arzenal."

The name was what set the alarm bells off: Ange remembered the conversation in the cafeteria yesterday regarding Zola's hedonistic tendencies, including having a harem.

"Thank you, sir," Zola said. "I learned directly from you, after all. The best pilot and leader anyone could ask for. And _amazingly_ easy on the eyes, to boot."

" _Secure that talk_ , Zola; you're still on the clock. Zola was my star pupil and my direct subordinate when I still led the First Troop, Ange. She knows what she's doing, and she can get things that need doing done. As long as you keep in line with what she tells you to do out on the field, you'll do just fine," the Major said, putting a hand on Angelise's shoulder. "The two of us have had a talk about her habits, so don't worry. All _you_ need to worry about once you're taken out of my hands is finishing what training you didn't do and getting out on the field. But, on the off chance something _does_ happen, let me know _–_ we'll resolve the situation together before anything gets out of hand."

Her heartrate still held steadily quick as the words failed to dissipate the discomfort she was feeling. She was doing just fine keeping any bad images from entering her mind, but still…

The tension broke when her stomach grumbled loudly…

"Hmm…" the Major chuckled. "Get yourself a good meal…and an early and comfortable night. Wake up at the usual oh-five-hundred. Your second Fridge Dash is tomorrow. Also, if you're smart, consider investing in something to keep you going during the training – things will only get more intense from here. That's the reality of life in this place, Ange. Dismissed."

The Major reached into his pod and pulled out the extra panels he used to control the simulator, presumably so he could finish tidying up after their training. To Zola's credit, she made no move and simply moved out of the way for Angelise to go and get changed.

 **Later**

 **Cafeteria**

It was much like the lunch yesterday. It was food, but it hardly looked appetizing. And the taste…it was serviceable, but it was just so _bland_ when compared with what she was used to back when she was still…when life was still…

 _When everything felt so simple,_ she thought, as she tried in vain to move a spork with the Light of Mana. It failed, of course – she had no reason to expect anything else.

No. To hear the Major tell things all the way from the tale this morning, and from even earlier, the apparent simple feelings were just that: feelings. Feelings that hid the more complex realities of how the world worked.

She then thought back on what the Major said the simulator.

" _I offer you a challenge: consider the people you shared orientation with, and then ask yourself why protocol can get so flexible."_

Angelise didn't think about it much at that point in time, concerned more about the supposed absurdity of her being a Norma. So many of those girls could not have been older than six years old. How long would it be before they were assigned to one of the squadrons?

She was so locked in her thoughts, she didn't even notice two people approach.

"You…you were training with Gene earlier!" a young voice said, excitement present in it. Angelise looked up.

They were the two youngest members of the First Troop that she was to be assigned to: Coco and Miranda, if she recalled right. It had been Coco – the one so enthusiastic about the idea about the Major flying with the First Troop again – who had spoken. Wordlessly, Angelise nodded.

"Lucky. So, what was he like?"

"Coco, please…breathe," Miranda said with a chuckle. "I'm sorry. Coco's a big admirer of Eugene. Do you mind if we sit?"

Again, Angelise nodded. The two young teens, each with their own trays, sat down. Coco could barely contain herself.

"How hard was he on you?" Miranda asked. "His program has quite a, uh… _colorful_ reputation."

"Difficult?" Angelise asked, slight blush on her face.

"Most stringent on base. And he's no slacker on the punishments, I hear."

"My punishment was being beaten badly in a dogfight and overtime in the simulator," Angelise said. Every part of her told her that the few hits that she landed were all because the Major was holding back. If he had wanted to, he could have ended the fight the very second he set his eye on her. "He's unbelievable."

"He's good. People call him the 'Black Wolf of Arzenal'," Miranda said.

"Why?"

"It's how he fights: fast and ferocious like a wolf, in a Para-mail as black as night," Coco piped up as she opened a container of pudding. "Flies rings around _Galleon_ class, _Brig_ class, _Schooner_ class…heck _any_ DRAGON…takes them down with hardly a scratch…Papa Gene is the man who can make the impossible possible!"

Intentional or accidental, some of the Norma – Sage was just one example – hit exactly the right spots needed to alleviate the tension. Still, that left a question in her mind.

"Why do you call him that: 'Papa Gene'?"

Coco blushed, as if recalling something either very fond or very embarrassing…or both. "Well, I never knew my parents. Not a lot of us do. I must have been four when I first met Gene during the annual Mermaid Festa."

"It's the one time of the year Arzenal has no worries at all!" Miranda added. "Like a vacation for all Norma!"

"Yeah. Fun day. I remember falling and scraping my leg against a rock – but he was there to clean and bandage me. He stuck with me all day to make sure I stayed safe. We talked. It's funny…he hates Perolina stuff, but he won me a Perolina keychain that year," Coco gushed. "He's also the reason I got into pudding to start with."

"It's not just Coco," Miranda said. "Every Festa, Gene takes time out of his day to make friends with the preschoolers. He's got more talents than just mail-riding. They really love him."

Mermaid Festa? Like a carnival? She could never say she had ever attended any such gathering before. Talents? Angelise had to put her hand to her mouth to keep herself from snickering as she imagined what these "talents" could be. The Major didn't strike her as the type who juggled, or the type with the sense of humor that was conducive towards being a clown.

They'd talked for the better part of the next ten minutes – or rather, Coco and Miranda primarily talked while Angelise mostly listened. When they'd finished, Angelise wasn't sure whether to look over her booklet, go right to sleep, or look for the Major to talk.

His challenge was beginning to weigh on her.

* * *

 **A/N: Yes, you can thank Eugene for getting Coco started on her pudding addiction. On a separate note, after consultation, I've decided to say: take Jamil Neate from After War Gundam X and crop his hair down, drop the scar, put away the aviators, and you have Eugene's appearance.  
**

 **As for his voice, we've defaulted to Dameon Clarke, but I need to add that I'd previously limited my scope to VAs with anime credentials _only_. If I remove restriction and put in _any_ VA candidates (Anime, Western Animation, Video Games, whatever) for Eugene, these would be names on a poll:**

 **Troy Baker (Abel Nightroad | _Trinity Blood_ )**

 **Brian Bloom (Matt Horner | StarCraft 2) [Note: Bloom was my original choice]**

 **Elias Toufexis (Adam Jensen | Deus Ex: Human Revolution)**

 **Trevor Devall (Mu La Flaga | Mobile Suit Gundam SEED)**

 **Roger Craig Smith (Gilbert G.P. Guilford | Code Geass)**


End file.
